


and darling (this thing that breaks my heart)

by frizzoli (timequakes), timequakes



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:55:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timequakes/pseuds/frizzoli, https://archiveofourown.org/users/timequakes/pseuds/timequakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slight AU. Christmas in Germany and everything starts to change all at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is almost entirely the fault of four people: Alex, who introduced me to this fandom and made me have feelings about soccer ladies; Jasmine and Sarah, who are perpetually enabling and encouraging me to fic everything always, and alexandraheath on tumblr whose constant lobbying for Ali x Ashlyn fic wore me down until I just couldn't /not/. Thanks, you guys. Merry Christmas, or whatever you celebrate, and thank you~

“I am a twenty-seven year old professional soccer player,” she says, huffing into the scarf that’s wound so tight it’s covering her mouth, “and I’m about to outsled this entire hill of fourth graders.”  
  
There’s a flash of dark hair and she shifts to the side as Ali bumps against her shoulder, her mittened hands flexing, eyes just visible below the brim of her hunting-style hat and bright with mischief that Ashlyn feels down to the bone. “Not without me, you’re not.”  
  
If she were going to feel self-conscious about spending her morning sledding with eight-year-olds (which is doubtful to begin with), the look of intense focus on her best friend’s face would have quieted her instantly.  
  
“Come on,” she says, hefting the sled up onto her shoulder, “it goes faster with two.”  
.,.  
  
It _does_ go faster.  
  
Ali isn’t allowed to steer (the last time she did she knocked over a small child and then rammed the sled into a tree), so she sits behind Ashlyn, tucking her hands into the taller woman’s pockets and stretching out her legs. After a quick check over her shoulder, Ashlyn pushes them off over the top of the hill and they _fly_.  
  
It’s there that Ali realizes this isn’t normal.  
  
Among other things, of course- like Ashlyn following her to Germany, and the fact that her name in Ashlyn’s phone is ‘Princess Babe’, and Ashlyn’s incessant flirtatiousness- but it’s this moment, clinging to Ashlyn as they race down a slope with the shouts of children all around them and the wind whipping into her so hard her eyes water- that she realizes something’s off.  
  
More accurately, she realizes that what they have is essentially a romantic relationship without the romance. And it’s not even that part that throws her for a loop- it’s the fact that the lack of romance, now that she’s identified it, _bothers_ her.  
  
Ashlyn sticks a leg out like she’s trying to steer them but somehow it backfires and before Ali can even try to stop them they’ve flipped over and she’s on her back in five inches of snow with Ashlyn lying half on top of her, too breathless even to laugh, blinking snow out of her eyes and reaching up to brush some off of Ashlyn’s hat.

  
.,.  
  
The first time she dreamt about Ali Krieger she was twenty.  
  
It wasn’t a surprise. Ali is and always has been quintessentially her type- ladylike, sweet, freckly, smart, and quick as hell on her feet and with her humor- but when they had just met and she was still kind of hoping she could coerce Ali into a makeout session or something, it would never have occurred to her they’d be friends eight years later.  
  
Because at that time, Ali had been ‘straight’. Not that she was closeted, exactly, just that she wasn’t aware of her bisexuality yet, so Ashlyn’s advances had fallen on politely disinterested ears. By the time Ali had made out with another girl they were already best friends and Ashlyn had already long dismissed the idea of them ever being anything else. Anyway, she doesn’t really do relationships, and Ali’s too good of a friend to her for her to fuck it up for something as stupid as sex. That’s if Ali would even be interested, which Ashlyn doubts- just because Ali is into both genders doesn’t mean she’s automatically attracted to everyone.  
  
But it’s things like this that remind her of dreaming about Ali, the snow and the red tint of her cheeks and the way her laugh dies a little when she reaches out to brush away the snow like she’s losing concentration on anything else but making sure every flake is taken care of.  
  
“Next time either stick both feet out or don’t bother,” she says, and Ashlyn laughs, vowing to herself that she’s going to flip them as many times as she can before Ali gives up on the sled.

  
.,.  
  
It doesn’t take too long before Ali realizes that Ashlyn is flipping them on purpose, and by then she’s frostbitten and craving hot coffee and they’ve scared off most of the kids that had been sharing their hill. Apparently something about two women consistently tumbling into the snow onto and around each other freaked them out, not that she can blame them. With her little epiphany it’s gotten harder and harder to act like everything’s normal.  
  
Mostly she’s trying to figure out how long it’s been going on and how long she’s been quietly pretending she doesn’t want more. But she sucks it up and follows Ashlyn home, knowing the promise of coffee is a second to the promise of a few more hours in Ashlyn’s company, and promising herself she’ll try to figure it all out once she’s back at her apartment in Frankfurt alone.

  
  
.,.  
  
Ali’s doing that thing she does when she tries to leave but also tries to show that she wants to be asked to say- that thing that Ashlyn thinks is ridiculous considering how long they’ve been friends, but still thinks is kind of funny. She likes playing this game. She likes playing at convincing Ali to stay with her, whether it’s some weird friendly seduction or not.  
  
She tends not to overthink it.  
  
“I have to get going if I’m going to drive back without dying on the black ice,” Ali says, tugging on her pea coat. Ashlyn grabs it by the halves and pulls Ali back towards her, singing at the top of her lungs- “but baby, it’s _cold_ outside.”  
  
Ali laughs but her next excuse is a little weaker (like it always is, only this time it’s all seasonal and Christmassy and Ashlyn’s hands are still fisted in Ali’s jacket and it feels weird but not wrong), “Ash, it’s getting late. You can’t hold me hostage.”  
  
“Try me.”  
“Is that a challenge?”

  
.,.  
  
Ashlyn’s smirking at her again and she _swears_ that happens more than it needs to. Ali carefully pries Ashlyn’s hands from her coat and concedes with a sigh: “Fine, I’ll stay. But only because I don’t want to drive this late.”  
  
That’s another twelve hours in limbo, uncertain of her feelings, but she can manage it. She’s sure of it.  
  
Well, she’s sure of it until she’s in an oversized UNC shirt and a pair of Ashlyn’s sweatpants and they’re curled up watching Elf in German (Ashlyn knows every word in English and insists it’s a ‘learning experience’ but what it really is is Ashlyn reading the script over badly lipsynced German voice actors). The couch is long enough that Ashlyn can lay out on her side and rest her head in Ali’s lap, which she does, wriggling until she’s comfortable. It’s not the situation that’s shocking: it’s the normalcy of it. It’s the completely obvious fact that the only difference between them and a couple is that Ali is not about to lean down and kiss Ashlyn to shut her up.  
  
But it occurs to her. And that’s never happened before.  
  
.,.  
  
She falls asleep ensconced in the warmth of an electric blanket and Ali’s hand in her hair and when she wakes up they’re both still on the couch, but Ali is laying down, too, knees bent awkwardly so that Ashlyn’s head rests on her hip, her own head resting on the arm of the sofa and a light crocheted blanket draped over her. The house is freezing and Ashlyn doesn’t think twice before she prods Ali awake.  
  
They don’t even have to speak. They’ve done this plenty of times, though it’s been a while since they both passed out on the couch together, but a day of sledding is apparently more exhausting than she’d imagined it would be.  
  
Ali follows behind her on bare feet and they go to their designated sides of the bed (of _any_ bed; they’ve shared many)- Ali to the right, Ashlyn to the left. Ashlyn digs into her sock drawer and tosses the first folded pair to Ali, who has perpetually cold hands and feet, and they collapse into silence and sleep and warmth again like they never woke up in the first place.  
  
Ashlyn dreams of Ali.  
  
.,.  
  
Ali doesn’t dream. She wakes up pressed against Ashlyn’s back with the blanket halfway off the bed and knows instinctively that the only reason they’re so close together is because that would have been the only way, unconsciously, for her to get any warmth. It’s happened before, plenty of times, and she’s the first awake because Ashlyn is still snoring softly into her pillow.  
  
It's not out of character for her to leave, but before she does she makes herself some coffee and steals a travel mug. She also makes the quickest omelet of her life (because Ashlyn is incapable and Ali knows she misses real food) and hides it in the microwave before she scribbles down a note:  
  
“Had to get home before the Christmas Eve festivities started. Will definitely be back Christmas Day with your travel mug (and interest). Check the microwave if you even know where it is.”  
  
She pauses, clicking the pen, and, for the first time, debating on the last line that they both throw around so often before she adds it, cheeks burning:  
  
“Love you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ali makes a change.

“I think I’m in love with Ashlyn.”  
  
It’s devastating when she says it and she knows she’s said it too early. She hasn’t given herself time to feel that it’s true yet and it feels like ripping out her own spine or something, the way her entire body holllows and she leans her forehead on the window, clutching her phone so tightly her fingers hurt.  
  
On the other line Megan is quiet for a beat longer than she needs to be.  
  
“I mean, isn’t...that’s a good thing, right? Aren’t you two, like...”  
“No.”  
“Oh man, sorry- I just kind of assumed, I mean, it always seemed....you know.”  
  
Ali sighs, turning so that she can lean her back against the window. It’s validating, in a way, that someone else is confused about her relationship. It makes her feel less like an idiot and more like maybe she can handle all this after all.  
  
“Don’t you think I would’ve told you?”  
“I didn’t think you really needed to. So, you think you’re...”  
“Yeah.”  
“Well, isn’t that a good thing?”  
“I don’t know.”  
  
It should be, she knows that. Falling in love is wonderful; she’s been there before, but this time it crept up on her and feeling it all at once is terrifying, especially because Ashlyn doesn’t seem to feel much at all. Megan waits, as if even from across an ocean she knows that Ali has more to say.  
  
“I guess it could be, if- if she felt the same.”  
“So tell her.”  
“It’s not that easy.”  
  
Megan laughs a little and Ali finds it in her to crack a smile, somehow. “I didn’t say it was easy. The thing is, though, you’re not gonna know anything until you tell her.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
.,.  
  
As good as Ashlyn might be at partying, she’s learning very quickly that doesn’t mean she’s going to be any good at hosting one. She’s been invited out for Christmas Eve, but she finds herself crunched for time, between wrapping last-minute presents and buying the things she needs for the next day, so that she’s the last one to arrive at the party and the last one to leave.  
  
She likes women.  
  
She has always liked women. There was never a time in her life that she thought even for a moment she could be attracted to a man or a boy- they were her friends, never someone to love. That had been obvious enough at home surrounded by sorority girls or surfer girls or skater girls or soccer girls. But Germany? Germany’s a whole different story.  
  
She loves German women.  
  
She loves the way they drink, unapologetically and in excess. She loves the way they talk, like the things they say are more important than anything else, like they know exactly how smart and how funny they are. They love like that, too- like they know how important they are, and Ashlyn can’t get enough of just being around them.  
  
They remind her of Ali.  
  
Which makes sense, because Ali is German, kind of. She says this into the phone past midnight once she’s home, and Ali’s laugh is so clear it’s like she’s there in the living room. “I’m glad my people _amuse_ you,” she says, and Ashlyn twirls, collapsing onto her back on the couch, which feels too big without a lap to lay in.  
  
“No, I’m just saying, it totally makes sense that I like German people, you know? cause I like you, and you’re German.”  
“And you’re drunk.” Ali’s voice is soft but chiding.  
"I'm not that drunk."  
"Then you met someone." That's how Ali always has referred Ashlyn's conquests- as 'meeting someone'- but this time when she says it it's clipped.  
"A Bianca," Ashlyn replies, but she's cautious. Something's not right.  
"The same one from before?"  
"No. Someone's cousin."  
"Did you break her heart just in time for Christmas, you _American scoundrel_?"  
There's a laugh there, between them, and Ashlyn can relax again, rolling into her stomach. "We just made out a little. It was friendly. She didn't even ask for my number or anything."  
"Blonde?"  
"Brunette. Taller than me, but I think she was in heels."  
Ali laughs again. "You think?"  
"I wasn't looking at her feet, AK."  
"Ew, don't call me that, you know I hate it."  
"Kyle does it!"  
"Go to sleep, you giant baby, or Santa's not gonna come."  
  
.,.  
  
"I don't care about Santa, I care about _you_. You're coming, right?"  
  
Ashlyn sounds so earnest like this, like the middle of the night brings it out in her, makes her want for something, for once. Her life has always been all about instant gratification; Ali’s fairly certain the only struggle Ashlyn has ever known was her ACL injury- if it doesn’t come to her right away, it’s not for her.  
  
What a way to get by.  
  
"Of course. I have to bring you your presents, don't I? And your mug."  
  
And she does. She agrees to get there early and help Ashlyn with the party supplies, which means she's standing at the Frankfurt bus stop five and a half hours later, sleepy and frozen into her boots. The two hour bus ride is welcome warmth, and it's a trip she's made countless times before, when driving doesn't suit her: two hours more to sleep. From there it’s a short walk to Ashlyn’s, and Ali takes her time, even though the cold and something else are seeping back in, making her apprehensive and restless.  
  
Ashlyn opens the door and Ali laughs out loud before she can stop herself.  
  
“Those are ridiculous,” she says, reaching up and plucking the blinking antlers off of Ashlyn’s head. “Merry Christmas!” is the reply she gets, and then Ashlyn’s arms are around her waist and she’s being spun around in a bear hug. The apprehension melts away and the restlessness means nothing when there’s nowhere to go- she’s back in Ashlyn’s arms, where she belongs, and this time instead of second-guessing it she buries her face in her best friend’s neck and smiles.  
  
.,.  
  
“Taste it.”  
“Ash.”  
“Please taste it. I don’t wanna poison anyone.”  
“But if you poison _me_ , it’s okay.”  
“Just a taste! Please, c’mon.”  
  
Ali finally relents and takes a sip of the spiked eggnog, suspicion written all over her face. Ashlyn waits, and the wait is worth it- Ali breaks into a smile and hands back the mug. “It’s good. You’re good.” Which, as far as Ashlyn is concerned, means her job is done. The house is clean and decorated (the first part was all Ali but Ashlyn would like to think she kind of helped with the second), the party food is out (including her own original-recipe reindeer cookies) and the eggnog is made.   
  
“Are you gonna change?” Ali asks her, just as she’s moving into the living room to wait for people to arrive. She glances down at herself- jeans, boots, button-down- and then back up, shrugging.   
  
“Should I?”  
“No, I just needed to know if I should. I brought a dress to change into.”  
  
Ashlyn laughs- “Of course you did”- and takes the opportunity to give Ali a once-over, shamelessly enjoying every second of it. She’s wearing a sweater that was, at some point, Ashlyn’s, but that looks better on her- she’s fuller in a few specific places than Ashlyn is and the sweater clings just right- and dark jeans, and snow boots, and this is the kind of outfit that makes Ashlyn want to go back a few years and try a little harder to convince Ali to give her a chance.  
  
But it’s Christmas. She’s not gonna think about that.  
  
“You’re fine. You look great. Really hot. Maybe you’ll even get a Christmas miracle.”  
“You say that like me getting flirted with is a miracle. I’m offended.”  
“No, you getting _laid_ would be a Christmas miracle, because flirting with you is like- taking the freaking SAT’s or something.”  
“Did you even take the SAT?”  
“Duh, genius, you have to if you’re applying to college.”  
“That doesn’t mean you did it.”  
  
Ashlyn laughs and tosses a throw pillow in Ali’s direction.  
  
“What, you don’t want to believe I’m as smart as you, miss Penn State?”  
“You’re getting it confused with U Penn, valley girl. I’m not that smart.”  
“No. Just a smartass.”  
  
.,.  
  
Everything goes just fine until the slow dancing starts. Trust Ashlyn to put some music into her party playlist that calls for closeness- she fancies herself a matchmaker, always has, and tonight is no different except that, apparently, she’s forgotten to invite a date for herself. Ali is, as always, her fallback, and just as everyone is beginning to pair off Ashlyn grabs her around the waist and pulls her close. This time she feels it down to her toes- Ashlyn’s body, solid and warm and real, and her smile and the stupid blinking antlers and the eggnog making everything too bright and watery, like long paintbrush strokes, softening every curve.  
  
She plays her part, looping an arm around Ashlyn’s neck to hold herself in place, the other holding her mug of eggnog. “Forget to lasso yourself a hot date?” she jokes, but she’s noticing Ashlyn’s hands on her hips when she says it, noticing the way they fit together. “Nah,” Ashlyn jokes, tipping her head down, “I’ve got my hot date right here.”  
  
For a breathless moment Ali is sure Ashlyn is going to kiss her.  
  
.,.  
  
She doesn’t.  
  
.,.  
  
  
  
"Hey."  
  
Ashlyn's voice makes her turn, and that's when it hits her: in her rush to escape, she's forgotten to avoid the mistletoe, and Ashlyn's not distracted enough to miss it.  
  
"You're under the mistletoe. I'm the only one left."  
  
She's smirking, but there's a sweetness behind it- like the sweetness of the eggnog behind whatever she used to spike it- that Ali can't resist. "You gonna kiss me, or what?"  
  
She knows how this goes. She's supposed to laugh it off- this is just how Ashlyn is, it wouldn't matter if Nätze were in her place- but she's tired of doing what's expected of her.  
  
Maybe it's the eggnog that gives her the courage, or maybe it's just the frustration, but whatever it is Ali gives into it and closes the space between them in a single step, hands framing Ashlyn's face as she covers the smirk with her own eager lips.  
  
Ashlyn drops her mug. It shatters when it hits the ground and Ali starts to panic, but she doesn't get the chance to pull away before Ashlyn's arms are around her waist, pulling them together. Of all the reactions Ali could have come up with in the 2 seconds before she’d made this decision, this wasn’t among them.  
  
But she’s not about to complain.  
  
Ashlyn’s lips are softer than she expected them to be and warm from the contents of her mug (which are now all over their shoes) and Ali feels like she’s just been given a shot of morphine and a wire loop in a thunderstorm. She’s barely able to start to get used to it before her phone buzzes insistently in her pocket and drives them apart, even as she shoves her hand into her pocket to quiet it.  
  
Ashlyn’s never looked at her like this before.  
  
She doesn’t even know what to call it, she just knows that it isn’t good.  
  
“What was _that_?”  
  
She’s shaking too hard to speak for a second but when she does she’s impressed by how even her voice is.  
  
“You told me to kiss you.”  
“I meant, like, a kiss on the _cheek_ or something, not- Ali, I was kidding.”  
“Were you?”  
  
She can see the change when she says it, can see Ashlyn draw up a little straighter and ask herself the same question- _was I?_ \- but it doesn’t last long enough for her to be sure that it happened at all. “See, this is my problem, Ashlyn, I can never tell when it’s a joke and when it isn’t anymore.”  
  
Ashlyn is looking at her like she’s some kind of wild, possibly-rabid animal that she has to expect will leap at her face at any moment. Which, all things considered, is a pretty fair comparison. “You know how I am, come on. It’s always a joke.”  
  
“Is it?” she knows she needs to stop with the rhetorical questions so she pushes a little bit, crossing her arms. “Because you did just kiss me back.”  
  
.,.  
  
Well.  
  
Of course she had kissed Ali back. Ali is _Ali_. Ali is the most universally attractive woman Ashlyn has ever met, and she has met a _lot_ of women. When a woman like that kisses you the way Ali just kissed her you don’t turn around and say ‘no’. But Ali’s her best friend and things have just gotten way too weird and meta for her to handle.  
  
She’s always been attracted to Ali. That doesn’t mean she was ready for Ali to turn around and start something.  
  
“You’re my best friend. You’re- how long has this been going on?”  
“Does it matter?”  
“Yeah, it matters! It changes everything!”  
“Why? Why is it any different? I’m still me.”  
“ _Everything_ is different.”  
  
Ali takes a breath and Ashlyn notices everything too much- the way Ali’s chest rises, the quirk of her eyebrow.  
  
“I just don’t understand how you’re surprised. Why did you think I’d stuck around for so long?”  
  
That one hurts more than it should and Ashlyn feels her throat tighten up, going from ‘confused’ to ‘betrayed’ in no time at all. “Uh, I dunno, maybe because you _liked_ me? Maybe because you’re my friend? Jesus, Ali, I moved to Germany to be with you, not to-”  
  
“Do you even _hear_ yourself when you talk or do you just spout whatever comes to mind?”  
  
.,.  
  
Ashlyn frowns at her and opens her mouth to speak but Ali intercepts it- “You just said you moved to Germany _to be with me_.”  
  
She can see that her point is solid because Ashlyn drops her gaze for a second to the shattered mug on the floor before she replies. “So, what? You misinterpret one stupid sentence and decide you want your tongue down my throat?”  
  
“It’s not one sentence, it happens all the time. We both do it. Has our friendship seriously never struck you as a little bit weird?”  
“No! It hasn’t! I’m not any different with you than I am with anyone else!”  
“Ashlyn-”  
“You’re not any different than anyone else.”  
  
Her heart sinks so fast and so low that it’s like it’s disappeared completely. Her mouth has fallen open a little but she tightwires it shut and nods, biting her lips.  
  
“Okay. I get it.”  
“Ali, I...I didn’t-”  
“No, it’s fine. That’s fine. I’m gonna go now.”  
  
.,.  
  
When Ali’s gone Ashlyn picks up the broken mug pieces and glues them back together as carefully as she can before she lets herself feel something.  
  
When she does, the mug breaks again, this time in her hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broken things only mend if you stop breaking them.

Ashlyn’s first instinct when she wakes up the next morning is to call Ali.

Her fingers freeze on her phone when she remembers that the reason she woke up with an emotional hangover is exactly the person she’s in the process of calling, and she lets the phone slip through her fingers and back to the bed. When she rolls onto her back, she’s mocked by the formation of little plastic glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling and the ‘A’ that they make: A for Ashlyn, and A for Ali. A squared.

It feels wrong to be alone.

It feels worse to think that Ali threw her friendship away in the space of five minutes.

.,.

Megan’s voice is crackly and too soft and Ali has to strain to hear her even in the quiet of her own apartment, bending over the table like that will help.

“How was your Christmas?”

It’s a loaded question, especially considering the fact that she hasn’t gotten more than eight hours of sleep in the last two days. She’s not sure she’s ready to talk about it yet- not sure she’s ready to /think/ about it or even consider it, because even letting herself think Ashlyn’s name is enough to overwhelm her with hurt- but she’ll try, for Megan’s sake. And for her own sake, if the band-aid ripping theory is anywhere close to true.

“I lost Ashlyn. I mean, I- she’s pissed at me.” Her backpedaling clearly makes the situation seem less urgent, but she doesn’t want to sound overdramatic about it so she doesn’t go back and correct herself. Megan is silent for a moment, and in the background Ali swears she can hear another voice, one with a lilt to it that has to belong to Sarah.

“Is it a valid thing or is she being stupid?”  
“It’s- look, I don’t want to be a buzzkill on a good day, okay? I can call you in a few days or something.”  
“Kriegy, please. Like you could ever kill a buzz like Christmas.”

She wants to argue, but it occurs to her that Megan might be right- they had both been a little tipsy, and she had gone about it all wrong, but that doesn’t mean it’s not salvageable.

“She made a mistletoe joke and I kissed her and she flipped out about it.”  
“Oh.”

More silence. Ali picks at the groove in the wood under her hand which splinters uncomfortably under her nail and tries not to remember too much about the night before. It’s no use, though; in the space between Megan’s words she hears “you’re no different than anyone else” again and crumples, dropping her head into the hand that’s not holding the phone and drawing a shuddery breath.

“Ali?”  
“I’m okay. I’m okay.”  
“You don’t sound okay. You sure that’s all?”  
“We’ll get past it. It’ll be fine.”

.,.

 **kkriegs** : you’re not making any sense.  
 **kkriegs** : i think the important question here is, how drunk was she?  
 **heygirlharris** : she wasn’t  
 **kkriegs** : i don’t know what you want me to tell you  
 **heygirlharris** : did she say anything to you?  
 **kkriegs** : no  
 **kkriegs** : i’m just as surprised as you are i promise i just don’t think it’s as serious as you’re making it  
 **heygirlharris** : you weren’t there  
 **kkriegs** : thank god for that  
 **kkriegs** : where are you / why are you mobile?  
 **heygirlharris** : bus  
 **heygirlharris** : to frankfurt  
 **kkriegs** : oh good  
 **kkriegs** : just talk it out i’m sure it’ll be fine  
 **heygirlharris** : i know you don’t want to here this but it was like  
 **heygirlharris** : it was a serious kiss  
 **heygirlharris** : like, it was definitely not some kind of accident  
 **heygirlharris** : because you can’t use tongue by accident  
 **kkrieger** : gross stop i literally could have gone my whole life without reading that  
 **heygirlharris** : i’m just saying that i dont think talking is going to fix it  
 **kkrieger** : no what you’re really saying is that you dont want to talk because you know you’re bad at it  
 **heygirlharris** : excuse you  
 **heygirlharris** : i am the smoothest of the smooth  
 **kkrieger** : is that why ali’s been tweeting passive-aggresively heartbroken song lyrics all day?  
 **heygirlharris** : shit  
 **heygirlharris** : if you were in my position how would you really nicely tell her you need space  
 **heygirlharris** : like a lot of space  
 **kkrieger** : i wouldnt be in your situation because that would be incest  
 **heygirlharris** : stop being an asshole  
 **kkrieger** : why do you want space?  
 **heygirlharris** : because idk how to feel about it  
 **heygirlharris** : and she’s really confusing me and i’m kind of upset that she sprung it on me  
 **kkrieger** : then why is SHE upset?  
 **heygirlharris** : because I was upset that she kissed me i guess  
 **kkrieger** : explain to me how ‘don’t tell me you’re sorry ‘cause you’re not’ matches up with your story  
 **heygirlharris** : i may have also said something kind of shitty but she knows i didnt mean it  
 **kkrieger** : so this time explain yourself without being shitty about it   
**kkrieger** : i bet you’ll be surprised.

.,.

Ali has always been able to play away her problems. No matter what it was that was stressing her- school, at first, college applications, then college itself, then real life- connecting with a ball and a team on the field has always been enough to snap her out of a funk. She knows she shouldn’t be surprised that this isn’t the case with Ashlyn, but she is surprised, and because she’s surprised that it doesn’t all immediately disappear she has a difficult time dealing with it. At the first break she wanders over to the bench, which is still cold and wet from where the snow was brushed off of it, and sits down without bothering to worry about it. There are places on the field where cleated footprints have cleared the snow away completely, and other places in the far corners where the snow is untouched and pristine and begging to be spoiled.

Her water’s too cold to drink.

“<You look like shit.>”

Nadine knocks the snow off of her cleats on the edge of the bench and leans over, her smile knowing, and Ali manages a smile and a shrug.

“<I’m okay. Just tired.>”  
“<You’re an awful liar.>”

Ali sighs, pressing her fingers against the tattoo on the inside of her wrist, and gets back to her feet, readjusting her jacket and her ponytail and her mindset. “<It’s nothing that’s going to keep me from playing my best game,>” she says, and she even convinces herself- she can see the amusement on her teammate’s face and likes the thought that she had never been doubted for as long as a second. “<Of course not,>” Nadine laughs, following Ali back onto the field and slinging a comforting arm over her shoulders, pulling them closer together so that they’re forced to walk in step, “<you’re our little American warrior. Nothing stops you.>”

And as long as she has her foot on a ball, that stays true, like contact and possession are what keep her mind occupied. As soon as there’s a scrimmage, though, and she’s left watching and waiting, it all comes rushing back. In fact, it comes back so vividly that as she makes her way back to the bench at the end of practice she swears she hears Ashlyn’s voice calling her name.

.,.

“Ali. Ali. _Ali_.”

It takes three times before Ali seems to register someone’s calling her name, and her head snaps up from her bag like she’s been woken up from some kind of coma. The way her expression changes- from confusion to hurt in no time at all- makes Ashlyn wish she had stayed home. By the time they’re face to face Ali has made her expression completely unreadable, and Ashlyn finds for the first time in a long time that she’s nervous to speak.

“I’m sorry. I- you know I didn’t mean it.”  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It’s clearly her way of getting Ashlyn to say the real words instead of talking around it, but there’s no point in fighting back. Ashlyn draws in a breath and lets it out with the words on the tip of her tongue: “You are different. You’re my best friend. And- I said stuff I didn’t mean, last night, and I’m sorry.”

Ali’s face changes again, softens like she’s letting her walls down for a moment. “You came all the way out here to apologize?” she asks, shifting forward so that the space between them shrinks and Ashlyn can’t breathe. “I…yeah. I did.”

It becomes clear instantly that Ali isn’t on the same page as Ashlyn, because her eyes dip to Ashlyn’s lips for a heartbeat and suddenly Ashlyn is reliving the stupid kiss and she panics, taking a step back. “I mean, yeah. I came to apologize but I also- I need some…time. Some time and some space.”

“For what?”

The hurt is back in Ali’s voice and Ashlyn could swear she’s going to get whiplash from the back and forth, but she goes on, trying to remember what Kyle told her to do and failing miserably.

“For…everything’s just really different now and I need to regroup-“  
“So you came _here?_ To tell me you wanted space?”  
“And to apologize.”  
“So when you say you want space what you really mean is that you want me to disappear.”

It’s really not a question, and it’s not how Ashlyn would have chosen to phrase it, but it’s also not too far off the mark. She’s so caught up in trying to understand herself, her instinct to kiss Ali back and the onslaught of feelings she thought she’d gotten rid of at least four years ago that having Ali off the map for a little bit sounds sort of nice, in theory.

“Not forever. Just for a little bit. Like…if I call you, or something, then that’s fine? But maybe don’t call me.”

Ali laughs and the sound is so grating that Ashlyn shivers. “I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

.,.

Ali’s been led on before. She knows disappointment and she knows regret and she knows she has people to go to, even now, with the biggest constant in her life gone. It’s not that she feels alone- it’s that she’d rather wallow in self-pity for a while than go find someone who will tell her to move on. The truth of the matter is that nobody _really_  understands what this is like, because nobody _really_  understands her relationship with Ashlyn- including her.

She falls back on a habit that has always accompanied heartbreak for her and decides on cleaning her entire apartment, like maybe if she erases every physical trace of Ashlyn it’ll be easier to forget.

She doesn’t have the guts to delete the most-used contact on her phone.

.,.

Ashlyn would like to think she’s strong enough to resist getting drunk and sleeping off the taste of Ali’s lips, but she’s not, not with the weight of years behind it, not with the look on Ali’s face seared into her memory. It’s the only logical thing to do.

Bianca- the original, not the bicurious Christmas Eve cousin-of-a-friend Bianca- answers on the second ring, and Ashlyn can’t be bothered to mask her intentions or put in much more effort than offering a drink and an opportunity to ‘hang out’. Bianca is a booty-call type, anyway, confident and well-traveled and everything that Ali is not, so she doesn’t sound particularly offended and after a little back-and-forth she concedes in a way that lets Ashlyn know she wasn’t planning to resist in the first place.

She doesn’t get the chance to drink herself under the table enough before there’s a body under her, and because she’s not blackout drunk she’s still thinking about Ali. Bianca is the opposite of Ali even physically- petite and blonde and blue-eyed, without a freckle anywhere, but Ashlyn’s still comparing her to something she’s never had.

It was easier the last time because she didn't have the feel of Ali's lips to remember, but this time she does and it drives her crazy. She channels that energy well, though, at least as far as Bianca's concerned- what's a couple of bite marks between friends-with-benefits?  
  
She misses Ali.   
She _needs_ Ali.   
  
But as long as its in her power she's not going to admit it. **  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ali flies back to DC for New Year's eve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter and I'm sorry that it's short but the next one won't be! I'd apologize for the angst but then I'd be lying, so.

Ali’s flight from Frankfurt to New York is the longest of her life.

The in-flight movie is P.S. I Love You and she tries her best to ignore the fact that she’s seen it before, but when she falls asleep halfway through and wakes up as the credits roll, she remembers watching this movie at home. She remembers watching it with her head resting on Ashlyn’s stomach and getting into a popcorn fight because she hadn’t cried at it and Ashlyn had.

Ali pulls the earbuds out of her ears and tucks her feet underneath her, pressing her forehead against the cold window to her left, thankful for the empty seat on her other side and for the low hum of the plane that lulls her back to sleep before there are tears to fight back.

She dreams that things went differently.

She dreams of a winter spent by Ashlyn’s side where neither of them speaks at all. She dreams of long, sweeping arms of snow and ice and nobody in the entire world but them, alone, together.

.,.

Over the last two days checking Instagram has become a habit that she hates herself for more than she hates herself for sleeping with Bianca right after The Confrontation. Ali never updates her Facebook status and her tweets are always cryptic; Ashlyn used to be able to decode them but starting Christmas Day they’ve become as foreign to her as they’d be to any stranger. Instagram is the only way (short of calling Kyle, which she’s terrified to do) to figure out where Ali is and what she’s up to.

The most recent is a picture through a plane window, overlooking New York, the Statue of Liberty draped in ice and snow and early sunlight. In the reflection of the window, if she looks carefully, she can see the curve of Ali’s smile.

“You have got to stop,” Niki says, from across the room.   
“Maybe I was checking my email, asshole. You don’t know me.” But she _does_ ; Niki is her best friend. The only person who knows Ashlyn better is Ali.  
“You never check your email. You’re stalking her again. She’s not going to upload a new picture every ten seconds.”

Niki purses her lips, narrows her eyes, and lets a dart loose. She’s better at it than Ashlyn is, with a twist to her wrist that lands her within an inch of the bulls-eye every time. Ashlyn sighs.

“I wish she would.”

She broods for a moment, legs slung over the arm of her couch, until Niki takes the hint and gives up the darts for the thing she’s second-best at: life coaching.

“Just fucking call her already. The suspense is killing me.”  
“I’m not gonna call her. I still don’t know what to tell her.”

Niki groans overdramatically, grabbing Ashlyn’s head and pretending to bash it into the couch cushion. Ashlyn turns her head and bites at one of Niki’s hands, earning a kick in the leg for her efforts. 

“Tell her how you feel. It’s not that difficult.”  
“I don’t _know_ how I feel!”  
“Then I’ll tell you: you’re stalking her on every social media website you possibly can, you’ve been playing the same five songs all morning and for the first time in your life you’re _guilty_ about a hookup. You want her.”

She says it like it’s common sense but it hits Ashlyn like an 18-wheeler. 

Want and _want_ are two different things. When Ali had walked away from her in Frankfurt she had known want. She had known what it was like to fight off the instinct to run after someone and take back every word out of her own mouth, but this is different. This is a long term thing. This is something she thinks she might have been hiding from herself for months.

Niki apparently takes her silence as disbilief or disagreement and barrels on, twirling a dart between her fingers and heading back towards the board. “You guys have practically been in a relationship as long as I’ve known you, Ash, and that’s, what- four years? Sure, the sex part was missing, but there was never any pressure to commit or anything and you and I both know you weren’t missing anything on that front.”

“We were best friends,” Ashlyn snaps, sitting up, and Niki looks distantly bemused.  
“If you were as weird with me as you were with her, I would’ve bolted right away.”  
“Weird like how?” She’s curious despite being annoyed like hell, because she has a suspicion Niki might be right. Typical.

First dart hits right below the bulls-eye.

“Weird like your emotional state at any given time depended on hers and vice versa. Weird like you’d both get jealous of each other’s significant others and pretend you weren’t. Weird like she’d dress up to hang out with you and you’d comment on it.”

“ _Is_ that weird?”

Second dart hits straight on and Niki turns to give her a mock-disgusted look, hand on her hip. “Do you do it with me?”

“I’m not attracted to you.” The way Niki rolls her eyes at that comment lets Ashlyn know she’s not making the point she thinks she’s making, and she immediately changes tactics, feeling herself start to blush. “I had a crush on her when we first met each other like six years ago, so what?”

“So it never went away!”

Niki throws the last dart without really paying attention, frustration making her tense her shoulders and wrists, and it ends up in the wall. Ashlyn brings her knees up to her chest and stares at it until the sofa bounces with her friend’s weight and there’s a knee pushed against her leg. 

“That’s all I’m saying. It shouldn’t be a huge revelation or anything; you’re smart.”  
“Whatever. I hate it when you’re right.”

She can’t laugh it off forever, though, and after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence she stretches out her legs and checks her phone again, knowing there won’t be anything new to check but hoping she’ll be wrong.

The same picture is there. The statue, the sunlight, the smile.  
“I can get over a stupid crush.”

.,.

Her mother is there at the gate and Ali falls into her arms like she’s seven coming back from her first sleepaway camp, swallowing back a sudden prickle of tears (she’s been on the verge of crying for days now and she’s _sick_ of it) and breathing in familiar perfume and shampoo. 

“I missed you so much.”  
“I missed you too, sweetheart. Kyle has the car waiting outside the terminal.”

Ali pulls back, shifting her duffel on her shoulder, and immediately knows that her mother can see right through her. She’s not surprised, but she’s not ready to talk about it either, so she immediately slaps on a smile. Part of it is genuine; it’s been months since she’s seen Kyle except over Skype and she’s dying for an actual cheeseburger, but part of it is a disguise she knows she’s going to have to learn to perfect. Ashlyn’s an ocean away, and maybe that’s for the best.

“Are you alright?”  
“Tired, that’s all. And craving McDonalds like you wouldn’t believe.”

Kyle practically leaps out of the car to hug her, squeezing her so hard her ribs ache and she can’t draw in a breath to laugh. He smells like the ocean and sun on metal and she understands why he’s holding so tight- she doesn’t want to let go, either. As much as she knows that moving overseas was a huge step forward in her career, it’s impossible not to miss him with every part of her, because _he_ is a part of her. The past few days of heartbreak have made her forget that and she makes a promise then and there that she won’t let that happen again.

“Stop breaking my ribs,” she says, and he lets her go. Their smiles match; they found that out ages ago, brushing their teeth in the same mirror. 

.,.

He knows all about it and she doesn’t bother to ask him how. For whatever reason the thought of Ashlyn telling him everything makes Ali angrier than she had been on her own behalf when it had happened in the first place, and she chews mutinously at her quarter pounder as Kyle tries to explain ‘the other side of the story’.

“You kind of blindsided her, I guess. I mean, obviously she’s not the best at social cues sometimes, but she was just- very confused.”  
“And betrayed,” she adds, but she’s making fun of it, ripping at the wax paper her burger came in, her appetite waning.   
“And betrayed. But she got over that part pretty quickly, I think. It just might take her a while to adjust.”

Ali sighs, leaning back into the couch. She’s not sure she _wants_ Ashlyn to adjust- she doesn’t like the sound of it because it sounds like something changing. A part of her, though, knows that the change is healthy. She’s spent years belonging to Ashlyn and Ashlyn alone, although subconsciously, and if they adjust like this with distance between them she might see something she’d never bothered to look for before.

But she doesn’t want it. She wants Ashlyn.

Kyle is watching her intently when she goes back to her food, and when he speaks again she stops mid-chew: “Did you- did you mean it? When you kissed her?” Ali swallows and turns to him incredulously.

“Did she think I didn’t?”  
“No. I mean, she didn’t say that. I thought she was taking it too seriously because I assumed you were just- that it was a joke or something.”

Ali tosses the last bites of the burger back into the bag and cradles her head in her hands.

“So it wasn’t a joke.”  
“Kyle.”  
“Ashlyn, though?”  
“I don’t understand why you’re so surprised.”  
“It’s just- it’s _Ashlyn_ , you know? 

She lifts her head to glare at him and he sits back a little like he’s afraid she might snap at him.

“No, I _don’t_ know. Why is it so hard to believe?”

Kyle steals a few now-forgotten fries and chews thoughtfully. “She doesn’t seem like your type, I guess,” he offers, and Ali ignores him because that’s actually too dense to even bother getting upset about. Instead she moves to defend herself, watching absently as he finishes her fires. “Let’s not pretend like this is unreasonable, okay? Ashlyn is the queen of mixed signals.”

“She does flirt with everything that walks, that’s true.”  
“She has literally _told_ me that she’s attracted to me. Multiple times. We threw around ‘I love you’ like an old married couple.”  
“You kinda…did a _lot_ of things like an old married couple.”

She knows that kyle is just thinking aloud so she doesn’t snap at him, but she’s agitated just thinking about it, about being used like that. She’s angry at Ashlyn for doing it- for keeping her on an emotional leash, for stunting her relationships just by existing- but she’s mad at herself for staying in denial and not demanding commitment or change.

But here she is.

“Maybe you should call her,” Kyle says, and Ali realizes her change of heart has happened on her sleeve for him to see. As if she’s taking a penalty shot she sets her jaw and squares her shoulders.

“I don’t need her.”

.,.

It’s midnight for her six hours before it’s midnight for Ali and she considers staying up until six am just to type out a text but she knows she’s only thinking that because she’s drunk. And no matter how “drunk” she is (she’s not drunk enough), she knows Ali deserves better than some stupid generic message. She’s too cowardly to give Ali what she deserves; that much is obvious, and even though she can feel Niki’s faintly disapproving looks from across the room she still chats up the freckliest brunette at the party because it’s all she knows how to do.

The countdown is in German and the German girl next to her is soft and glowy and when their lips meet Ashlyn doesn’t feel a thing.

That’s exactly as she wanted it to be.

.,.

She’s really not sure how Stephen ended up in DC, but she’s beyond glad for him and for Kyle for telling her that one of her high school friends is in town. Their New Years’ party is small, relatively, but she likes it that way- big parties remind her of Germany, and she’s not ready to go back yet- and introduces him to everyone else with great flair. He’s a game designer now, heading up the next Gears of War or something like that and making more money than Ali can really imagine, but he’s still the same pretty average and quintessentially handsome guy, and she still enjoys his company.

About twenty minutes into the party she realizes he’s really _looking_ at her.

She’s not really attracted to him, but she knows objectively that he’s nice to look at, with dark, curly hair and olive skin and an even smile. They don’t make it to midnight before she takes him out to show him the view from the front porch and he kisses her, shyly like they’re seventeen-year-old high school seniors all over again. His hands are on her hips but it’s like he’s scared to touch her, so she can hardly feel them and all she’s remembering are Ashlyn’s arms around her waist for the split seconds they were there and she wants so badly to forget that she doesn’t even feel bad about resting a hand on Stephen’s chest and leaning into the kiss.

His lips are chapped and taste like cinnamon gum (which is her least favorite flavor but she’ll deal with it) and he seems surprised that she wants to kiss him back. 

At twelve he pecks her sweetly on the lips and she knows by the end of the night she’s going to break his heart.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The NWSL comes into play, and both of them have to make some decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rating goes up to M for this chapter. I know it's taken a while for me to update but this is almost a 3k chapter so I don't feel too guilty about it~ love comments and feedback and all of you for sticking with me!

It doesn’t occur to her until her mother mentions it that the NWSL could be her ticket out of Germany.

She thinks long and hard about it, about whether ‘out of Germany’ is really what she wants, but all it takes is the thought of going back to Frankfurt and to Ashlyn for her to make the decision. She calls Frankfurt the next day, and it turns out her contract is flexible enough to allow her to start with both the national team and any of the NWSL teams on time. If they want her.

And they do.

She knows it’s not a surprise, because the national team didn’t let her go of their own accord- she was taken from them by injury and they want her back on the roster. 

Which means she’s moving home.

.,.

She doesn’t call Ashlyn.

.,.

Ashlyn finds out over Twitter.

At first she thinks it has to be a mistake; she only sees the headline and refuses to click the article for almost ten minutes. _Krieger Comes Home?_ When she finally gets up the guts to look, she feels like she’s going to pass out or cry or do something equally as stupid. What she does instead is even stupider.

She calls Ali.

.,.

She does what she knows she’s supposed to and flops onto her back next to Ashlyn, propping her head up on her arms.

Ashlyn doesn’t say a word.

The ceiling of her bedroom is plastered with cheap glow-in-the-dark stars that Ali can still remember putting there, jumping up and down like a five year old, and it almost makes her angry how simple things were.

 _Were_. Before Ashlyn broke her heart without even realizing it.

“So you’re leaving.”

Somehow she manages to hide her surprise, biting her lips and waiting for the rest of what she knows is going to be an accusation. When it comes, though, instead of anger in Ashlyn’s voice there’s genuine hurt: “I had to find out from the freakin’ _Internet_ , Al.”

“You told me not to talk to you unless you talked to me,” Ali replies, but she’s embarrassed- knows she’s hurt Ashlyn on purpose and doesn’t know what to do with herself. Ashlyn rolls onto her side, but Ali refuses to look.

“Something like _this_ , though?”

She shrugs.

“I thought you liked it here. Loved it, even.”  
“I do. Germany’s- it’s wonderful, but this is the kind of thing I have to do. I mean, if I don’t go, I might lose my chance to get back on the roster.”

She knows her argument is sound, but the amount of silence that Ashlyn leaves after that is terrifying to her. It’s terrifying because she can’t read it and she refuses to turn her head for more clarity. What’s worse is Ashlyn’s eventual reply, so quiet Ali has to strain to hear it:

“What am I supposed to do without you?”

Ali sighs but it catches in her throat, all the time spent with Ashlyn unraveling at her fingertips, all the summer nights back home and the cold days here and the snippets of conversation pulling apart thread by thread. “You’ll be fine,” she says, but she’s suddenly terrified that it’s true.

Ali is far too conscious of their physical proximity; Ashlyn’s knee pressed against the outside of her thigh and Ashlyn’s eyes on her with something that could almost be hunger. She had wanted Ashlyn to understand what it was like not to have everything come right to her- to struggle for something- but having that struggle and that desire aimed at her is terrifying because she’s not sure she has the self control to resist.

Ashlyn might as well be reading her mind.

.,.

“Can I try something?”

Ali finally turns her head and makes eye contact, but she doesn’t answer. Not that it matters, because nothing short of Ali getting up and leaving is going to stop Ashlyn now. It had been different when the space between them was her idea; it had been under her control. She can’t control an ocean. She can’t control anything.

She reaches out and cups Ali’s cheek in her hand, and when Ali doesn’t flinch away she shifts closer, sucking in a breath. She’s just dropped her eyes to Ali’s lips when the moment is broken: “I need to know this isn’t about me leaving.”

“What if it _is_ about you leaving?”

Ali lets out a breath and Ashlyn holds hers, just barely moving her hand further back towards Ali’s neck. For a second she thinks that’s going to be it and Ali’s going to leave for good, but she doesn’t regret telling the truth, because it _is_ about Ali leaving. Because if Ali can really choose to leave her behind then she’s _not_ going to be able to get over her ‘stupid crush’; she’s going to lose her mind completely and she’d rather that happen now rather than later.

Ali makes a frustrated noise that sounds like it might almost be, “fuck it”, and then they’re kissing and Ashlyn forgets everything.

She doesn’t even feel guilty about it, because Ali is the one making the major effort, rolling to straddle Ashlyn’s hips and bracing herself with both hands against the mattress. It’s not permission, but it’s good enough; Ashlyn brushes Ali’s hair out of the way and drops her other hand to Ali’s hip, hooking a finger into her belt loop and pulling hard.

Ashlyn can’t remember the last time she let someone else have control like this, but it strikes her as ironic that it’s Ali who she lets take it from her. It’s Ali whose hand slips under her shirt and flattens against her stomach, who rocks her hips forwards and steals Ashlyn’s breath away.

And it’s Ali that makes her want to take it slow for the first time.

.,.

She was right. Self-control went out the window the second Ashlyn touched her, which was predictable in hindsight but not something she thought about when she agreed to come over. It’s not surprising, though. None of it is surprising except how Ashlyn reacts. She’s gentle, and it throws Ali for a loop because it seems so out of character; because the tenderness of what she had expected to be so rushed just makes the thought of leaving worse. 

She rocks her hips forward again at Ashlyn's urging, glad that she's wearing jeans. The inseam provides just enough pressure, her fingernails dragging over Ashlyn's abdomen, and that's finally enough for them to deepen the kiss.

Ashlyn tastes like coffee too sweet, just the way she drinks it, but she won't get going until Ali bites her lower lip and makes her. 

.,.

Every time Ashlyn's ever dreamed of this comes rushing back into her head and the romance is gone. Ali clearly doesn't want romance, or she wouldn't be moving the way she's moving and her hand wouldn't be shoved up Ashlyn's shirt. 

She knows she can't deny Ali anything. 

She doesn't bother to try. 

Ali's lighter than Ashlyn expects, so when she flips she flips easily and bounces up off of the mattress, her hand dislodged and her eyes wide with surprise and dark with desire. Ashlyn descends upon Ali with the kind of singular focus she's always surprised she can have until there's a body under her, shoving Ali's shirt up and kissing along her stomach.

There are hands in her hair within seconds and Ali's knees dig into her sides, holding her in place. She doesn't need urging anymore, though, now that she's gotten a taste of Ali's skin; she keeps the shirt up with one hand and drags her open mouth along the waist of Ali's jeans. She makes the mistake of looking up, thinking that Ali won't be watching, but she's wrong- those dark velvet eyes are still on her, and Ali's biting her lip so hard it's white around her teeth, and Ashlyn groans out loud before she can stop herself. 

.,.

She’s not sure what it is- maybe the rawness of the hurt that Ashlyn’s caused- but she feels like she’s never been wanted until now; like every time she has thought that someone looked at her with desire she was fooling herself, because Ashlyn makes it so real. At this point Ali doesn’t care if it’s an act anymore, she just tugs at Ashlyn’s hair until she feels the button on her jeans pop open.

She lets Ashlyn go for as long as it takes to kick her jeans off, but as soon as she can she works the ponytail holder out of Ashlyn’s hair and Ashlyn settles back between her legs like she belongs there. It’s hard to focus on anything while Ashlyn has a hand on her upper thigh and her lips on the other, but somehow she still manages to think about leaving, about DC and the things she’ll miss when she’s gone.

Ashlyn. She’s going to miss Ashlyn. And maybe letting this happen will make it hurt less; if she can make sure whatever’s left of their friendship is ripped to shreds before she packs up and moves then there won’t be anything to miss.

.,.

Of course the panties are lace. If she had bothered to expect anything, it’s exactly as she’d expect- Ali with her shirt pushed up to her ribs, and the matching lace of her bra just barely showing and her cheeks flushed red and she’s not watching anymore but Ashlyn doesn’t mind because that means _she_ can watch.

When Ashlyn drags the panties down a little Ali lifts her hips and her hands fall to the sheets. Ashlyn waits with her lips resting at the crest of one hipbone until Ali makes a soft, encouraging noise and reaches a hand down into her hair again.

She rests her chin on Ali’s hip when she makes contact just so that she can watch the way Ali’s body tenses up and relaxes, again and again in rhythm with her hand. Technically speaking, she is in the position of power, but it doesn’t feel that way. Ali has complete control of her, even with one hand fisted into the sheets and her head thrown back and her back arching up off the bed. Ashlyn is at her beck and call, taking in everything she possibly can and adjusting herself when she needs to. She drags it out once, then twice, completely entranced by the things she can get Ali to do, by the writhing and moaning and gasping. The third time Ali digs her fingernails into Ashlyn's scalp and she stops teasing, replacing her hand with her mouth, and she doesn't move again until the hand in her hair is stroking instead of tugging and Ali's breathing evens out.

.,.

Ali is paralyzed. 

Ashlyn kisses her neck, her jaw, and then her cheek, and the gesture is so tender that she wants to cry. She wants to believe that what she felt was real and that Ashlyn isn't just going through the motions, but she knows better: it took the threat of her leaving for Ashlyn to get desperate enough to reciprocate anything. She'd feel used if she didn't feel so guilty for giving Ashlyn the chance in the first place. 

"Are you really leaving?"

Ashlyn lifts her head when she says it so that Ali is forced to make eye contact. She's never noticed how _green_ Ashlyn's eyes are, in the right light, and it seems cruel she should notice it now. She props herself up on her elbows and tries to look like she's not sorry. 

"You know the answer to that."

Ashlyn flops onto her back and Ali sighs, but before she can sit up completely the next question stops her like a roadblock: "I ruined it for you, didn't I?"

She doesn't answer because she's panicking now that Ashlyn seems to have figured it all out, and Ashlyn takes that as confusion, so she clarifies, adding, "Germany," as if she could possibly have meant anything else. There's nothing left for Ali to do but lie through her teeth. 

“You didn’t ruin anything.”  
“You have to tell me what you want, Al.”

.,.

She’s not surprised when Ali doesn’t answer right away, because she knows it’s not an easy answer. The thing is, she has to know, whether or not it’s an easy thing to say or an easy thing to hear, so when Ali starts to get up Ashlyn grabs her wrist to keep her there.

“I’m not leaving; I’m getting dressed,” she says, and Ashlyn immediately feels like an idiot.

She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes and waits until she can feel Ali’s weight on the bed again before she lets out her breath.

“I’m leaving because _you_ don’t know what _you_ want.”  
“Ali-”  
“Don’t argue with me, okay? You just _proved_ that. You told me to stay away from you, and then you called me to come over, and then-”

In an attempt to get Ali to stop talking, Ashlyn reaches over to kiss her, but she’s stopped by Ali’s hand on her shoulder. For a few seconds neither of them speak, and Ashlyn swears she can see Ali fighting the urge to stop pushing her away.   
She loses out. She’s starting to get used to that.

“You don’t know what you want, and I don’t know either, but I know it’s not me and I...I can’t be your consolation prize, Ashlyn. I just can’t.”

This is where the Niki in Ashlyn’s head screams at her to tell Ali that she’s wrong, but any conviction she might have had is gone now and all it’s taken is for Ali to doubt her. Instead of defending herself, all she can manage to do is ask another question, her hand still tight on Ali’s wrist and Ali still pushing gently at her shoulder.

“How do you know it’s not you?”

Ali sighs again, lifting her hand from Ashlyn’s shoulder to her cheek, but her touch is offset by her words and Ashlyn feels like she’s being ripped apart from the inside out: “Because I know you. And I know you can’t commit.”

.,.

The look on Ashlyn’s face makes Ali want to run away- equal parts hurt and confusion and not an iota of anger to soften the blow. Her fingers tighten around Ali’s wrist, and Ali lets her thumb brush over Ashlyn’s cheek, because the last thing she wants is for this to hurt Ashlyn as much as it’s hurting her. That’s the kind of weird, backwards relationship they’ve always had, and now is no different.

“You don’t know that,” comes the eventual rebuttal, but there’s no strength behind it, not really. 

“You’re wrong, Ali. We’ve- I’ve been committed to you for...a long time. I just didn’t get it.”  
“Yeah, and look how well that worked out.”  
“Look, I get that I did this all wrong, okay? You don’t have to tell me again. I fucked up, I get it.”

Only now has Ashlyn recovered her ability to really get defensive, and just like that Ali knows that any possibility of an adult conversation has flown out the window. “That’s not what I’m trying to say at all,” she tries, tucking a strand of hair behind Ashlyn’s ear and returning her hand to her lap, “I just mean that it’s...we’ve run our course, okay? Stuff happens. Things end.”

.,.

Things end.

_Things end._

The words are still on repeat in Ashlyn’s head twenty minutes after Ali’s gone. It’s the last thing Ali says to her before she leaves and it’s the last thing Ashlyn hears when she picks up the phone and calls Duisburg’s manager.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The NWSL complicates things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of new people pop up in this chapter: Lori, in DC with Ali, and Sarah Hagen and Niki Cross in Germany with Ashlyn. Sarah and Niki play for FC Bayern Munich and live together; speculate on their relationship in canon if you'd like but in this particular thread they're just roomies. This took me a while to crank out what with my travels etc but I'm pretty happy with it and I promise the action will start to pick up again soon!

  
  
“Players up for Allocation”- Ali reads it again, hands shaking. There’s her name.  
  
There’s Ashlyn’s.  
  
It’s clear as day, right there with the other goalkeepers, as if she’s not bound by contract to Duisburg until 2014.  
  
.,.  
  
“You should call her,” Kyle says. Megan agrees with him.  
  
Ali drops her head and  ups her pace until she’s far enough ahead of him on the sidewalk that he can’t see that she agrees with him, too.  
  
.,.  
  
Ashlyn dreams of Ali.  
  
It’s not the first time, of course, but it feels like it. It feels like how she would have wanted things to go; feather-light kisses and the curve of Ali’s spine, soft skin at her fingertips, just at the reach of her lips, a smile she knows too well. In the dream she holds Ali like she’s never held anyone before and when they’re finished the girl in her arms breaks into a thousand tiny pieces, and she wakes with a dry mouth and the sheets twisted around her ankles.  
  
.,.  
  
Ali calls Ashlyn twice. The first time it doesn’t even ring before she hangs up, and from across the room she knows Kyle is watching her. She tosses the phone at him and burrows down into the blanket nest on her side of the couch, slightly dislodging Apollo who only grunts at her in his sleep.  
  
The second time it’s 2 in the morning and she knows Ashlyn’s probably just now getting up to ‘make’ herself a breakfast of coffee and whatever pastry the place down the street from her Duisburg apartment has fresh. She lets it ring once, twice, then hangs up before she thinks the ringing will go through.  
  
.,.  
  
Ashlyn lists DC as her priority. She knows nobody will be expecting that, and she’s banking on that making a difference in where she gets allocated- not that she’d mind the Flash, just that she has an agenda this time- and marks down her lists as carefully as possible.  
  
Washington Spirit.  
Boston Breakers.  
WNY Flash.  
  
She pauses at the next question, chewing the cap of her pen until it snaps in her mouth.  
  
Ali Krieger.  
  
She doesn’t bother listing the other two. There’s nobody else.  
  
.,.  
  
Washington Spirit.  
Sky Blue FC.  
Chicago Red Stars.  
  
She knows where they’ll put her; they’ll want her back in DC to draw crowds. It’s what she’s good for, especially now that she’s the miracle player who’s back after injury, after missing an Olympics; the starter without a gold medal. They’ll put her where she wants them to, and she’ll be home free. Even if she occasionally has to play with Ashlyn across the field, watching her between goalposts.  
  
.,.  
  
The allocation list goes up in the middle of Ashlyn’s dinner and her phone explodes with texts. She’d been so engrossed in trying to make a decent grilled cheese- and finally succeeding- that she’d forgotten all about it, and she scrambles for her phone so fast she knocks her water off the counter and barely catches it in her other hand, spilling only a little on the floor.  
  
When she sees the result she forgets about the grilled cheese and the water and everything but the three names under the headline ‘Washington Spirit’. For the first time in what feels like forever, she smiles and Ali has something to do with it.  
  
.,.  
  
Ali doesn’t even have to heart to be anything but lost when she sees where Ashlyn’s been allocated.  
  
Nobody even calls her, though she expects someone to, and it’s only after fighting her way through a sparse lunch of a salad she doesn’t really want that she tries for a nap in hopes that when she wakes up she’ll know how to feel.  
  
It doesn’t work out that way, of course, and she wanders through her apartment like a ghost until she remembers that she has a Skype date with Kyle and rushes to get ready for it. It’s a tradition of theirs, when they’re apart- once a week they’ll both get the same dinner and pretend they’re in the same room- and she’s not going to let something like this keep her from participating. She’s still not sure how she feels, at any rate, and the longer she avoids really thinking about it, the better.  
  
When he asks her about it, she paints like Ashlyn moving to DC doesn’t faze her at all. “I saw that you tweeted her,” he says, and she shrugs, digging into her fried rice. Although this rendezvous is a tradition, lying to him is not, so she takes her time convincing herself that it’s really what she wants to do. “I tweeted my teammates. Maybe this’ll be good for us.” She almost believes it for a moment, too. Kyle raises an eyebrow and taps his chopstick on his webcam like he’s tapping her forehead. “What’s going on in there, ABK?”  
  
She figures it’s not really lying if he won’t believe her, but still tries not to look up at the screen when she answers him. “Working together. Playing together. Maybe it’ll help.”  
  
“Help _what_?”  
“Help her...get over herself. Help her figure out what she wants. Help her let me go.”  
  
The thing is, though, she never really expects it to come true.  
  
…..  
  
When Ashlyn signs officially, it changes everything.  
  
Seeing her name on that line makes her realize how stupid she is to chase Ali back across an ocean in hopes that it’ll change her mind. Ali isn’t impressed; that much is clear just from the silence on the other end of the phone when she shoots Ali a text. Without Ali, Germany is unfamiliar and cold and Duisburg’s back line isn’t getting any better. Ashlyn’s glad to think she might be able to play for a better organized team, even if the idea of being Ali’s goalie is suddenly daunting, but her urge to chase Ali down has suddenly started to morph into an urge to reinvent herself, and that throws her.  
  
DC doesn’t seem like the right place to do that, so close to the girl she’s now pretty convinced she’s in love with who coincidentally hates her guts. She’s met Diana once or twice, but never really spoken to her, and right about now she’s regretting not spending more time with Lori.  
  
She spends the next couple of weeks training, throwing herself into the defense of a team that’s going to lose her soon and realizing how many of them are only now understanding how much they rely on her. All the while, she keeps an eye on the free agents, hoping that she’ll get lucky and DC will snag a Tarheel and put her out of her misery.  
  
.,.  
  
“Sanderson.”  
  
“Kai.”  
  
“I thought she retired?”  
  
“Just from the national team, I’m pretty sure.”  
  
Lori lifts the ball onto the laces of her cleat, juggles it a few times, then sends it Ali’s way. Ali traps it with her chest and settles it, chewing at her lip in consideration. “I think I’d almost put money on Kai,” she decides, and Lori makes a noncommittal noise, bending down to retie her cleats.  
  
“I won’t bet you money on it, but I’ll buy you a drink if you’re right.”  
  
It’s an invitation. Lori’s always subtle about that stuff, but Ali’s perceptive enough to catch it this time, and glad that she does. THey’ve never been close, really, but she’d like them to be. Lori’s observant and smart but up-front about things in a way that’s refreshing without also being a jarring change.  
  
“What’d you have in mind?”  
  
…  
  
Going out keeps her occupied, and she knows that’s the best thing for her. As long as she’s busy during the day, training or reading or being interviewed, she’s fine. It’s only once she sleeps that the memory of Ashlyn seeps back in, taining her dreams with something sickly sweet that nauseates her for how far it is from the truth. In her dreams she never sees Ashlyn’s face- just the faint and blurry idea of a body- but she knows who it is. Nobody’s ever kissed her the way Ashlyn kissed her, and the best she can do now is try not to convince herself that nobody ever will again. There has to be someone.  
  
They get a booth at a place called Rumor, a combination bar and grill with slightly better than average food and more TVs than staff members, and immediately Ali sees the waitress that catches Lori’s eye. She’s tall and willowy, with a smatter of freckles, a cascade of reddish-blonde hair and a laugh that carries through the room. Immediately likeable; the kind of girl everyone is drawn towards no matter their orientation.  
  
But with Lori it’s obvious.  
  
“I like this place,” Ali supplies, as Lori flips absently through a laminated menu, too fast to actually be reading it, “although I think I’ve only been here once before.”  
  
“I go here a lot. It’s...convenient. You know, close to my place, not too far from a field. Friendly. Family-run.”  
  
The waitress in question whisks over, all elbows and perfect teeth, and Ali watches with barely contained amusement as Lori stumbles through her order. When they’re alone again she leans forward and mimics Lori’s words from earlier- “it’s convenient”- earning a kick under the table. Lori’s definitely blushing a little and Ali’s having too much fun to give up just yet, so she waits for eye contact and adds with a grin, “she’s cute.”  
  
Not her type, though. Not Ashlyn. She can see Lori think it and feels a wave of relief when it’s not in her reply. “She’s fresh out of a relationship with a guy,” Lori says, which is a way of suggesting how hopeless her situation is. “What about you. Better luck than me?”  
  
Ali leans back, straightening out the napkin on her lap. In all honesty she’s not sure how to answer that. Stephen’s called her once or twice from Baltimore, convention-hopping or something else video-game related that she doesn’t quite understand, but two phone calls don’t mean anything and she’s not sure if she wants them to.  
  
“Not yet,” is what she says, but somehow she knows that Lori hears the truth.  
  
She’ll be alright on her own.  
  
.,.  
  
Ashlyn goes over to Niki and Sarah’s the night that the signings start getting announced, and it’s there that she realizes for the first time in a long time that she’s _jealous_  of someone. She’s usually more than happy with what she has. The things she loves- soccer and her family- have never been kept from her. The things she wants- respect, girls, the ability to make what she loves be her job- have always come easily to her. Friends have always fallen into that category, too, but she’s understanding now that something’s missing.  
  
Sarah and Niki have the kind of friendship Ashlyn’s only ever seen in movies. They have separate lives- hobbies and friends- but they cohabit perfectly, even though based on their personalities it seems like they wouldn’t be able to. Where Niki’s never been the type to shy away from confrontation, Sarah’s a peacemaker until she’s on the field. Niki can be hotheaded; Sarah, as long as Ashlyn has known her, is very rarely caught without a smile on her face.  
  
They move around each other easily for two relatively tall people. Niki shows affection by physical bullying, and she’s not gentle about it, but Sarah takes her shoves and nudges with an unwavering grin. They speak in shorthand sometimes when they speak to each other, and Ashlyn is reminded so vividly of Ali that she feels an almost visceral pang of loss.  
  
“We picked up Chapman this afternoon.”  
  
She was surprised but pleasantly so- the Spirit is starting to stack up- and now she’s trying to guess at who else might sign, waiting for her phone to vibrate with a Twitter update. Niki reaches over the counter to grab an hors d'oeuvre from the tray Sarah’s just taken out of the oven and gets a slap on the wrist for her effort before she turns back to Ashlyn, leaning against the island.  
  
“Jesus. Your back line is going to smother _everyone_.”  
  
Ashlyn laughs, tapping her fingers impatiently against her knee. “Even Sinc and Alex,” she agrees, but she’s thinking of Ali, not Candace. Her phone buzzes, then, and she almost loses it when she scrabbles to turn it over and refresh her Twitter feed.  
  
 _Yes, the rumors are true! Let’s welcome UNC graduate and forward-turned-defender Whitney Engen to the Spirit!_  
  
She drops the phone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camp in Jacksonville brings a whole new...or not so new...host of problems.

Whether or not Ashlyn and Whitney will live together isn’t even a question; neither of them has a place in the states and they’ve been best friends for so long that they don’t even have to talk about it, they just start apartment-hunting. 

The distance between Liverpool and Duisburg is nothing compared to the distance between Ashlyn and Ali.

“So what made you decide to leave Duisburg? Your shit back line?”

Whitney’s teasing; it’s exactly how Ashlyn remembers her. When they laugh together even through the phone it sounds like summer and reminds her of bells chiming from the tower in Chapel Hill. She knows she owes an answer, though, and even though she doesn’t want to dump the whole thing on Whit over the phone, she can at least give an honest answer: “I wanted to start over.”

.,.

Ali likes living alone; she always has. When she settles into an apartment that she really likes, she always goes full-tilt in decorating. This time, without her usual partner in crime and without Kyle, who’s back in LA, she ropes Lori into helping her. She does this without really thinking about Lori’s reputation for being anal-retentive. 

It’s not that she’s messy, it’s more that she has a knack for starting one project, leaving it behind for another, and coming back to the first later. When that’s unpacking and decorating, things tend to _look_ messy, even if they aren’t, and Lori follows her around like a mother hen, clucking at her and picking things up and wondering out loud how she managed in Germany for years without losing her mind or at least something valuable like her passport.

“I’m not always this bad,” she says, placing a few pictures on her dresser, and Lori reaches into the box to help her. The first picture she brings out is one of Ali and Ashlyn, after training. Ashlyn in one of the huge, stupid puffy USSoccer jackets with her arm around Ali’s shoulder, and both of them beaming. This time last year they had celebrated about both being called into camp; now, looking at that picture, Ali’s afraid it’ll happen again. Everyone’s going to expect them to be as close as ever, and when they’re not, she knows she won’t be able to explain why. 

Lori, oblivious to all of it, puts the picture on the dresser with the others and collapses the empty box. 

.,.

They decide on an apartment just in time for the national team call ups to start, and Ashlyn uses that as a way to distract herself from what she assumes will be an enormous disappointment. She can’t expect a new coach like Tom to really understand how long she’s been in the system- almost 14 years- and she refuses to get her hopes up. The apartment isn’t a possibility, it’s a reality; at 1750 a month split between the two of them they’ve secured a relatively large studio in a building that’s close to the interstate but still in a neighborhood that’s friendly and lively and young. 

Her refusal to have expectations works- not only does _she_ get a call-up, but Whit does, too, and it’s a full half a day before Ashlyn realizes who else will be there. Her last game in Duisburg is a week before camp starts, and two days after that game she and Whit pack up and haul themselves across an ocean, meeting in London, consolidating, flying to DC, shoving their stuff into a storage room they rent at the last minute, crashing at a hotel, then flying down to Jacksonville. 

She doesn’t even realize that Ali is on their flight until they’re getting off the plane because there are four rows between them. Ali’s not in first class, but she’s in the first row of economy, the row she always likes because it lets her stretch out her legs. She’s still getting her things together when Ashlyn, sleep-deprived and hungry, looks up from the aisle and gapes at her. Whitney knows nothing, and Ashlyn is glad, because that leaves it up to her to break the silence with her excited greeting and genuine hug.

Ali hugs her back, but Ashlyn can see that she’s confused, a little, like maybe she thought Whitney would know everything already. Ashlyn clears her throat and nudges at Whitney’s backside with her duffel, glancing behind her. “We can meet you in the terminal if you want,” she says to Ali, “I don’t want to hold up the aisle.” But that’s it. That’s all she says. Ali nods, but doesn’t look at her, and Ashlyn can see Whit start to piece things together as they make their way off the plane.

“I feel like I just watched an episode of Burn Notice,” Whit murmurs to her once they’re out of earshot, and Ashlyn frowns. 

“You stole that joke from Community.”  
“Don’t change the subject. Did you sleep with her?”

Ashlyn feels her ears start to redden and forces herself to stay calm, steering them to the side of the terminal to wait for Ali, though she can’t for the life of her figure out why she bothers.

“Why would you think that?”

Whitney whacks her with her carry-on drawstring bag and Ashlyn makes an overdramatic ‘oof’ sound, startling the sleeping baby no more than two feet to their right.

“Okay, okay. I- it was her idea.”  
“I didn’t ask whose idea it was!”

At the tail end of that sentence, Ashlyn sees a familiar head of dark hair emerge from the ramp into the terminal and shushes Whitney so violently that the baby starts to cry. For a second it looks like Ali might walk right by them, but she redirects to join them. Ashlyn can read her like an open book, from the sleepy half-hoodedness of her eyes to the hand that’s resting on her other arm, right where the word ‘Leibe’ is tattooed; a reminder of what gives her strength. She’s nervous and tired and frustrated. Ashlyn is, too.

“Tom’s sending a minibus up here in an hour,” Ali says, glancing at the offended baby like she’s fighting the urge to go over and quiet it, “I think Abby lands soon.”

.,.

The worst part about the half hour she spends alone with Whitney and Ashlyn is how awkward it isn’t.

Ashlyn seems like she wants things to be normal, or at least not frigid, because she warms up into her normal self within a few minutes and Ali finds she’s been left behind in the dust. Whtiney’s studying her like a spreadsheet or something, eyes scanning, nodding at every word she says. She’s more comfortable with Ashlyn than she is with Whitney and that confuses her all over again, until Whitney excuses herself to the bathroom and Ali finds herself across a booth from Ashlyn like they’ve rewound three months.

Ashlyn taps her fingers on the table and it grates Ali so badly that she reaches out to stop her, a relic of the way their relationship used to be that doesn’t work anymore. A jolt goes up her arm and Ashlyn freezes. “Sorry,” she mutters, and Ali nods, retracting her hand like something’s bitten her. 

“Are you nervous?”

Ashlyn’s question breaks the silence after a few seconds and Ali takes a breath and a drink of her water, trying not to think too hard about her answer. “Not about my knee. It’s just normal pre-camp nerves. New coach nerves.”

“He’ll love you,” Ashlyn says, and it’s so honest and earnest that Ali looks up and is surprised to see there’s no eye contact to be had. Ashlyn’s eyes are lowered and it’s impossible to tell if she realized what she said. Ali lets the silence grow between them until it’s a mountain insurmountable, and then Ashlyn starts up the tapping again and Ali can think of nothing better to do than check to see if Abby’s flight has landed.

.,.

Whit’s caught on to the tension, but Abby’s completely and utterly oblivious to it and Ashlyn loves her for it. Abby’s psyched, and it’s been long enough since they’ve seen each other that the minute she’s done hugging Whitney and Ali she grabs Ashlyn around the neck and gives her a sibling-style noogie.

They settle into the van that comes to get them, Whitney and Ali in the first row of passenger seats and Ashlyn and Abby in the back. Abby talks plenty, engaging everyone in a discussion of Glee versus Pitch Perfect, and Ashlyn doesn’t bother to think past it until she gets a text.

[WHIT]

wtf did you do

She frowns at her phone and taps out a reply, pushing her knees against the back of Whitney’s seat.

[ASH]

i didnt do anything!!

[WHIT]

really bc usually wouldnt you be sharing the backseat with ali right now

[ASH]  
not neccessarily and i didnt say that nothing happened i just said that i didnt do it

Whitney very subtly shifts her arm back to where she knows Ashlyn’s head is resting and elbows her in the face. Not without any oomph to it, just enough to be annoying, and Ashlyn lifts her head and kicks the back of her seat in retribution. Ali seems to notice but says nothing about it, paying more attention to Abby’s defense of Pitch Perfect’s ‘aca-awkward’ jokes.

[WHIT]  
oh come on  
okay fine judas what happened

[ASH]  
dont call me that asshole  
she kissed me  
and i wanted some time to figure out how i felt about it  
and then she decided to move back to the us

[WHIT]  
so you slept with her  
THAT was your reaction

[ASH]  
you try to say no to ali krieger when shes decided she wants something from you

[WHIT]  
…..

[ASH]  
yeah get back to me on that

.,.

Megan tackles Ali when she sees her and insists that they room together. Tom’s not as stringent about the rooming yet because he knows they know better than he does; Ali follows Megan to one of the open rooms and collapses on the first bed with her face in her hands.

Megan follows her, curling up, cat-like, so that her head is resting on Ali’s stomach. She doesn’t say a word until it’s clear that Ali’s ready to talk. Ali’s already emotionally exhausted from being in Ashlyn’s presence for a few hours and she can’t imagine what the next few days will be like. Ashlyn seems fine. That’s what bothers her the most. 

“I can’t believe she followed me to DC,” Ali says through her hands and Megan makes a noise of agreement. “I mean, I can. Or I guess a month or two ago I could have, if she’d dropped Duisburg and moved back with me, because that’s how we were. She’d follow me anywhere.”

“She followed you to Germany,” Megan agrees, but she’s really just encouraging Ali to continue more than she’s trying to add something of substance, and Ali is so grateful for her that she could cry. “But she was the one who wanted space and now I don’t _know_ what she wants and it’s driving me-” her breath catches and the tears come, hot and shameful and burning her throat where she tries to hold them in. Megan straightens out and loops an arm around Ali’s waist, hugging her close without saying anything, “crazy. It’s driving me crazy.”

“It’s okay. It’s- I know it sucks. I’ve been here, you know? At camp trying to avoid someone after an awkward and hurtful situation. It sucks but it’s doable and you have all the strength and grace in the world to handle it with, Kriegy.”

Ali sniffs and wipes her eyes, feeling for all the world like she’s seventeen again, but she smiles at Megan’s faith in her. Her resolve trickles back, little by little, until she works up to what she needs to say: “I just hope she realizes that by the time she knows what she wants it’s going to be too late.”

.,.

Ashlyn rooms with Alex, and the first night there a whole group of them decide to head out to the beach. The vets have better things to do (like play in Reece’s blanket fort), but Alex and Ashlyn and Kelley and Tobin head right for the water, shorts and all in the 50 degree weather. Eventually Whitney shows up, too, with Crystal trailing bright-eyed and smiling hesitantly until they can convince her to join them. She’s funny once she’s warmed up, and seems to have instantly attached herself to Whitney, which makes Ashlyn smile even before the other new callups appear.

“It’s like an ice bath,” Sydney explains, once she and Mewis and Julie have shown up. Whitney jumps up onto Ashlyn’s back and holds herself there until Ashlyn reaches around to grab her legs, and Kristie shakes her head, rubbing her goosebumped arms. “It’s already freakin’ freezing, no way.”

“Come on!” 

It’s Crystal that convinces them, in the end, jumping up and down in the shallows until Julie laughs and joins her, and then it’s just a matter of time before Sydney grabs Kristie’s hands and drags her in, too.

Tobin sees Ashlyn carrying Whit around and says something to Alex behind her hand. “I think they’re going to challenge us to a game of chicken,” Whit says in Ashlyn’s ear, and she’s right- Tobin hops onto Alex’s back and together they charge. It doesn’t last long; Alex plays dirty and kicks Ashlyn in the foot until she topples over. Ashlyn’s not one to go down without revenge, though, so she wraps a hand around Tobin’s ankle and pulls her off Alex’s back. Alex reaches for Tobin to try and keep her up, but she loses her balance and they both fall in, spluttering and laughing.

And then silence.

“I thought we were supposed to be the immature ones,” Julie says, breaking the quiet with a laugh just behind her voice. 

“If you came here for maturity,” Kelley answers, as the giggling breaks out again, “you came to the wrong place, sister-woman. In case you missed it, the old guard are playing with a toddler right now.”

“More like the toddler’s playing with them.”

Christie scares the whole group of them into jumping a little, and when they turn around collectively they’re greeted by Reece and Abby and Megan and Ali, who are sensibly wearing their training jackets. 

Abby pulls Ashlyn out of the water. Ali and Megan continue down the beach, laughing together, and Ashlyn watches them go, suddenly and violently unsettled to the core.

.,.

Ashlyn intercepts them on the way back to the hotel. Ali had no idea they were being followed but they haven’t spoken much, and she’s feeling stronger now like something about the ocean brought back the feeling of being whole on her own. Ashlyn sidles in front of them just as they hit the door and they stop, each of the three of them feeling something completely separate.

Ashlyn clears her throat and Megan looks askance at Ali, who nods almost imperceptibly. Without another word they’re alone together, both of them with their hands deep in their pockets it feels like a Western showdown, like one of them could draw at any moment.

“Hi.”  
“Hey.”

Ali thinks she might be imagining it, but it’s as if Ashlyn is _nervous_. 

“Can I talk to you?”  
“Aren’t you talking to me now?”  
“Yeah,” Ashlyn laughs, like the banter is the way it was before even though there’s a tension there now that wasn’t there before. She scuffs her shoes and then she looks up again and Ali wants to kiss her more than she’s wanted to kiss anyone in her life.

“I really want us to be able to be friends again, AK.”

The term of endearment does the opposite of what it usually does and actually endears Ali this time, enough so that she finds herself smiling. Ashlyn _is_ nervous, and even though there’s a part of her that’s still irrationally angry at the last month or so, it all goes away when they’re alone together like this, with the streetlight illuminating Ashlyn’s face just on sharp angles and the dimple of her half-smile.

“I really want that, too.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah.”  
“So, we’re... we’re okay now?”

She wants to say ‘yes’ without thinking about it, but she remembers crying over this just hours ago and slows herself down, chewing her lip. 

“Things can’t go back to how they were. You know that, right?”  
“I know.”

It’s not until later that Ali realizes there’s no way they can be friends. As soon as Ashlyn’s out of sight she wants to bang her head against the nearest wall. ‘Friends’ don’t look at each other the way Ashlyn looks at her, or the way she looks at Ashlyn. ‘Friends’ don’t dream about each other every other night. ‘Friends’ don’t have to make sure they’re friends.

“She said she wants us to be friends,” she tells Megan the moment she opens the door. Megan looks up from her Kindle and makes a face. 

“You told her to take a hike, right? Tell me you told her to take a hike.”  
“I- not exactly.”

.,.

“You said _what?_ ”  
“That I wanted to be friends!”

It’s already an ambush before Whitney sits up and mutes the TV, and Ashlyn ducks into the bathroom to escape it, to no avail. She’s aggressively brushing her teeth when Whit appears in the mirror behind her, looking completely unamused.

“Ashlyn.”  
“M brush’n m’teeth.”  
“Well, spit.”

She spits, guiltily.

“Do you really want to be friends with her?”  
“Of course not.”

Whit rolls her eyes dramatically and traipses back into the main room, and Ashlyn follows her.

“You are such an idiot sometimes, Ash. I swear to God.”

That’s offensive, but also kind of funny, so when Ashlyn asks ‘what?’ she’s laughing even if Whitney isn’t. It’s easier to laugh about it than it is to really think about it, as always. 

“You can’t tell her you want to be friends with her if you still want to sleep with her. You think she doesn’t know? I promise she does.”

“So if she knows, then what’s the problem?”

Whitney’s digging in her bag for her notebook, and when she finds it she sits Ashlyn down on the far bed and hands her the pad and pen. 

“Write this down. You are going to stop pretending to be Ali Krieger’s friend.”  
“I’m not gonna write that down, what if someone finds it?”  
“Then good! They can hold you accountable! Write it down.”

She writes it down but she does it begrudgingly, feeling like a kid in a remedial summer class.

“You are either going to a) tell her how you feel or b) grow up and move on like any other rational adult.”

“She doesn’t want to hear how I feel,” Ashlyn says, doodling a ‘24’ on the corner of the page.

“Okay, then just write down option B.”

She just writes down ‘grow up’.

It’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Sister-woman' is a quote from Cat On A Hot Tin Roof, because Kelley *would* just throw out Tennessee Williams quotes. This took a while but I think I'm pretty happy with it- tell me what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> obviously this is an AU, and, as such, I’m taking a few liberties. THe biggest one is that the Algarve just ceases to exist in this universe. I have my reasons.

The rest of camp passes quickly, and between trainings and tests and preparation for the Jacksonville and Houston friendlies there isn’t much time for talking to anyone but a roommate. Alex isn’t too talkative; Ashlyn wonders if Christen and Bywaters make her nervous but doesn’t try to ask. Alex isn’t the type to respond well to prying. If she wants to talk about it, she’ll talk. 

She doesn’t. Ashlyn works hard, harder than she’s ever worked before, and after each practice and each session she’s so exhausted that it never even occurs to her how strange it is that she only catches Ali in glimpses. 

Ashlyn doesn’t play either game. She’s used to the disappointment by now, and she knows that Tom’s going to play her eventually- he’s told her as much- so it doesn’t hurt much, especially because it’s Jill that gets the start in Florida and Nicole that plays the 90 in Houston. It’s only strange to sit the bench because Hope is there with her, and although they don’t speak much more than the cursory greetings, Ashlyn could swear they have a kinship now that they didn’t before.

….

Ali just squeaks by without having to approach Ashlyn for the rest of camp, and she does it by being as quiet as possible. She tries to disguise it as focus- and some of it is- but she knows that Megan knows the truth of it, and the best she can hope to do is avoid talking about it until it goes away. Sooner or later she’ll start to believe her own lies again, but until then she’s not safe from the things that Ashlyn makes her feel. 

Especially not from the hurt.

“She was wrong to ask you that,” Megan says, the morning of their flights. “She was wrong to put you in that position, to ask you if you’d be friends with her again. What’re you supposed to say, ‘no’? No, she knows you wouldn’t, even if you didn’t want to. She knows you’re too nice for that.”

Ali doesn’t answer. There’s no way to defend Ashlyn anymore, even if she wants to. 

It shouldn't surprise her that the three of them going to DC are on the same outbound flight, but it does. It's a 6 am from Houston and the seat beside her is empty. Somehow, even in a half-empty plane, Ashlyn and Whitney end up behind her (it really isn't that surprising because the plane is small and the first class is only 4 rows), and that threatens to ruin her day before its even begun. 

They're whispering and laughing as the plane takes off, and Ali, unable to hide in her music or her Kindle, is forced to hear it. They sound happy. _Ashlyn_ sounds happy, not that she shouldn't, but Ali can't help but think that if Ashlyn had ever really been upset about what fell out between them she still would be. 

But in the end she thinks that nobody else would be surprised. Ashlyn Harris wants for nothing. And Ali won't let the illusion of Ashlyn's desire clip her wings again. 

.....

"We should get a cat."

Whitney pops the ball Ashlyn's way, and Ashlyn catches it, incredulous. They were smart enough to pick an apartment pretty close to a park, and since they've moved in that's where they've spent most of their time. Three days of juggling back and forth, 1 on 1, and staying busy. 

This is new. 

"What? Why?"

Whitney shrugs, pulling her prewrap headband off and double-wrapping it around her wrist. 

"Because we can. And even once all this contract crap is sorted out and we're playing regularly a cat would be fine, they can take care of themselves."

Ashlyn drops the ball and holds it between her ankles, using both her hands to retie her ponytail, turning the idea over. 

"I'd rather get a puppy."

"Of course you would. You like to make things difficult."

She pops the ball up and back into her hands, then drops it to juggle it on her knees for a moment before passing it back Whitney's way. 

"I don't really like cats, Whit."

"You'd like ours."

......

Stephen visits her the week before the contracts finalize, and she takes him to Lori's favorite diner. For the first few minutes she's distracted by the waitress, who flounces from table to table with an unwavering grin, but then she focuses back on the man across the booth and makes herself have a good time. 

She only has a half a beer because she'd like to get up early in the morning to run, but she wonders if Stephen thinks anything of it. He tells her about the game he's designing; about how he's trying to change the way women are portrayed in it, and if she's being entirely honest he's trying a little too hard. 

She likes him, though. Spending time with him is comfortable and uneventful, and she doesn't have to worry about a rush of butterflies every time they make eye contact, and even if he's a sub-par kisser and insists on wearing the same 4 sweaters in different colors she's starting to resign herself to a future with someone like him. 

Someone safe. 

He walks her to her apartment afterwards, and brings him in and offers him a drink, and when he asks her about Germany she skirts the issue as politely as she can. It doesn't work. 

"Did you make a lot of friends over there? I know they all pretty much speak English."

"Yeah. They were great, really accommodating. The team kind of felt like a big family of sisters, you know, just like anywhere else. And it's a popular thing, Americans playing abroad, so they were used to it. I wasn't a novelty to them."

She laughs a little, surprised at the warmth that the memories still hold- of Frankfurt in the snow, and of her apartment, and Nätze.

"Are there other Americans over in Germany, or do they go other places?"

Ali pauses, then decides to answer honestly, crossing her legs and in the process brushing Stephen's knee with hers by accident. 

"There are a few everywhere- Sweden is popular, and France, but I know of players in New Zealand and England and plenty were in Germany with me. Uh, the Spirit's goalkeeper, Ashlyn Harris, she played over there part of the time that I did."

"I've heard about her," he nods, and Ali mentally scolds herself for being as curious as she is. "She's supposedly really good, right?"

"WPS keeper of the year in 2011," she mumbles. "We're lucky to have her."

.....

The kitten they decide on is just barely bigger than Ashlyn's hand. She's tortoiseshell, mostly brown with ginger and white and tabby patches, and her eyes are so green that it's unreal. Whitney doesn't have to wait more than a few seconds to say "I told you so"- as soon as Ashlyn holds it in her hands she wants to take it home. 

"Her name's Allie," the humane society clerk tells them- "get it? Like, Allie Cat."

Whitney shoots a look of warning Ashlyn's way, but she just clips on the plastic collar and takes the kitten back.

"I love it."

They end up getting Allie a collar in Spirit colors, blue and red with silver trim and a little silver bell. It's too big until Ashlyn rigs it to fit, and Allie's more scared of her water bowl than she is of their feet, but by the end of the day she's settled in just fine and Ashlyn has to admit the place feels more lived-in. 

"She likes you," Whit laughs, when the kitten snuggles up between Ashlyn's shoulder and chin to fall asleep, "what was that about not being a cat person?"

Ashlyn shushes her overdramatically, flicking on the TV.

"Don't wake her up. She needs her sleep."

........

The first practice completely changes Ali's outlook of the season. Their team is young, a lot of it, but the girls are determined and certainly not shy Ali likes them, especially the forward-midfielders who seem to be attached at the hip. She learns quickly that they're Stephanie and Caroline- Steph and Caro- and that their tag team, as new and rough as it is, holds the potential to completely cement their team together. 

"They didn't know each other before this," Tori tells her, and Ali shrugs. 

"Some people just have good chemistry."

And that’s all she can think about, really- chemistry. Because the harder she thinks about Stephen, who she knows has probably called her three times since the last time she spoke to him, who she really has no desire to call back, the harder it is not to remember what it felt like to be with Ashlyn.

They weren’t together long. She can count the number of times they kissed on one hand and she knows better than to think that the way things were when they slept together is any indication of what things could have been.

Still, she won't sleep with Stephen. And she knows she should stop taking his calls, or at least tell him she's not interested, but it's better to have him than to have nothing. She's curious about whether Ashlyn has moved on or not; curious whether Ashlyn remembers kissing her and can't enjoy kissing anyone else, and she figures that if she's honest with Ashlyn she might get an honest answer. 

And if Ashlyn's moved on then she can too. 

In the locker room she waits for Whitney to disappear from Ashlyn's corner and then she sidles over just as Ashlyn's pulling her jersey over her head. It seems unfair to have to talk to her like this, but taking her aside would make it all too formal, so Ali just says hello and starts to unlace her cleats. 

"Hey."

Ashlyn looks pleasantly surprised that they're speaking, and Ali aches for it, for the dimple in Ashlyn's smile and the crooked set of her shoulders. 

"So, I'm...I'm seeing someone."

There's something hurt in Ashlyn's smile but she doesn't let it drop, she just holds her shirt in her hands and maintains eye contact. It tells Ali nothing. 

"Really? I mean, good, great. I'm happy for you."

The worst part is that she doesn't sound like she's lying. She sounds like she's actually happy, and if she is than she's happier about Stephen than Ali can imagine being. She shrugs, peeling off her socks, and breaks eye contact so that lying is easier. 

"Thanks. He's great."

Ashlyn puts on her shirt and Whitney wanders back into the room from the bathroom extension, but keeps her distance. 

"Kyle-approved?"

"Not yet. He will be."

......

"Did she say 'I'm seeing someone', or did she say she _was_ seeing someone?"

Ashlyn groans, rolling onto her stomach, and Allie jumps up at her feet where they dangle over the bed. 

"Does it matter?"

"Uh, yeah, dumbass. One is past tense."

"Well it wasn't that way."

"And what did you say?"

"That I was happy for her."

Within seconds Whitney is upon her, straddling Ashlyn's waist from behind, wielding a pillow, and repeatedly hitting her in the head as hard as she can. Ashlyn struggles, rolling over onto her back and pushing Whitney off of her. 

"What? What is your problem?"

"You're supposed to stop trying to be her friend!"

"So?"

"So you lied!"

"No I didn't!"

Whitney whacks Ashlyn once more across the face and then covers her own face with the pillow, mock-suffocating herself. When she speaks again her voice is muffled but Ashlyn can hear her frustration. 

"Are you seriously happy she's dating some dude?"

"Of course not."

"So then that's a lie."

Ashlyn sighs, and Whitney takes the pillow away from her face. 

"What should I have said?"

"You should have asked her why she was even telling you."

Whitney rolls onto her side facing Ashlyn, and Ashlyn frowns, thinking hard about what's been said. It had seemed strange that Ali was speaking to her at all, but if there's anything she's learned about being gay it's not to try and read a girl's mind. 

"That would have been awkward, right?"

"Oh, forgive me, were you going for 'smooth'?"

By the time they're done laughing Ashlyn's too breathless for her "fuck off" to hold any weight. 

That night she deletes Ali's texts, and changes her name back from 'Princess Babe', and she downs a whole beer before she even regrets it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dam breaks, sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If one more person tells me I don't update frequently enough, I swear to God. I have a life, guys. And another multi-chatper fic I'm updating. I don't exist to ~serve your interests~ and I really don't give a flying fuck whether you think 'nothing is happening' in these chapters so please don't bother telling me, k? k.
> 
> Enjoy, as always. But don't be a dick about it.

You never plan to have an epiphany.

Ashlyn knows that’s not how it works, and yet it still hits her by surprise when it happens. She would have expected an epiphany- if she had expected one at all- to happen in a movie-scene situation, running home through a thunderstorm, or driving with the windows down and her favorite song playing loud in her ears. She at least expects to be in the shower or something, but when it happens nothing specifically is going on other than her not being able to sleep.

It’s probably at least two in the morning. She doesn’t want to roll over to check because Allie is curled up on her chest, so she doesn’t bother to look. She can hear Whitney’s soft and steady breathing from the other side of the loft if she strains, but closer she can hear the cat’s purring, and for whatever reason she thinks of Ali.

It occurs to her that she’s angry.

The night makes things simple like that. She’s angry. She’s been angry at Ali for months, and she hasn’t realized it until now, and since she’s already come to _that_ realization she digs a little deeper and figures that she’s angry at Ali for leaving her. Allie, completely unaware of the big things happening under her, yawns and stretches until her paws hit Ashlyn’s mouth.

Ashlyn thinks back to Christmas and Ali’s no-warning kiss. She tries to go over every word she said, something that only the darkness lets her afford to try, and tries to remember what it was Ali said that made her so upset. She can’t come up with anything. She can only remember the things _she_ said that she apologized for, and she wonders if that’s why Ali left.

Actually, what she wonders is if the things she said were the sole reason that Ali moved across an ocean.

....

Stephen is finally wearing something other than one of his sweaters- it’s a t-shirt for him this time, like he’s forcing ‘casual’- when she answers the door.

It’s only the second time he’s been in her apartment and it still feels a little awkward to her because she’s not used to having someone to impress. He’s trying too hard, like he does, and she used to find it endearing but now she kind of just wants him to stop talking. She spends the first twenty minutes of his visit trying to figure out how to do that, and then she takes the wine glass out of his hand, places it on the coffee table, and kisses him.

He doesn’t complain. She doesn’t expect him to. His hands feel too big on her hips, but she ignores it as long as she can, which turns out to be until he lowers her onto her back and hovers over her, and then her body and her heart simultaneously decide she’s had enough before her brain can catch up to be coherent about it.

“Stop.”

He pulls back, ever the gentleman.

“I can’t...do this.”

“I have condoms.”

She’s not sure if she feels like laughing or crying. She doesn’t do either, just awkwardly pats his shoulder, and for once he’s perceptive enough to get it and lets her up off the couch cushions.

“I can’t do _this_ , is what I meant. I mean, I like you! I do. I obviously do,” she reaches for his hand, rests it on his knee, “but I think, I mean, it’s complicated.”

“Uh oh.” He laughs a little and takes his hand away to rub the back of his neck, which, along with his face, has started to redden with embarrassment. “I know what _that_ means.”

Halfway through another thought, Ali double takes.

“You do?”

“Yeah. Means there’s someone else.”

“There’s not,” she says, quickly, “not right now. I mean, I didn’t meet someone. It’s more that I’m trying to get over someone, and I don’t want to use you to do it. That’s not fair to you.”

“Ah.”

For a second she thinks he’s going to get mad, but he just takes his glass back and takes a sip of wine.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, thank you for being upfront about it. I appreciate it. Most girls would have let it go on longer.”

Ali laughs uncomfortable, relieved but now trying to figure out how to make it so that she’s alone again in her apartment.

“You’re not like most girls, though,” Stephen continues, and Ali winces a little. He stops there, though, puts the wine down and kisses her on the cheek before he leaves.

She knows she ought to feel bad, but she doesn’t feel much of anything. She finishes his wine, and hers, and then another glass before she stops herself, turns off her phone to prevent making any unfortunate mistakes, and puts herself to bed.

....

She and Whitney show up to practice early so that Whitney can practice her penalty kicks in relative peace and quiet. It takes her a few misses to get in the swing of things, but little by little she starts to disguise her shots enough that Ashlyn has trouble keeping up, and eventually she’s making more shots than she misses.

By the time people start showing up at the Plex Ashlyn’s already sweating and out of breath, but she knows the extra workout will be worth it- it already is, just to have pumped up Whitney’s confidence and to know that the smile on Whitney’s face is something she helped make happen. After the last shot she stays on the ground, rolling onto her back with a breathless laugh, and Whitney trots over to help her up.

Ashlyn uses Whitney’s hand to pull herself to her feet, then keeps her grip so that she can pull her best friend into a sidehug that immediately turns into a noogie.

“Gross,” Whitney laughs, wriggling out of her grip, “get your sweaty goalie nastiness away form me.”

“You know you love it,” Ashlyn teases, grabbing her once again around the shoulders and smooching the air around her face. Their teammates are starting to appear on the field, talking and chittering amongst themselves; the team’s been together long enough by now that they don’t think anything of Ash or Whitney at all. The only person that spares them a sideways glance is Ali, whose furtive glance only lasts a second but burns through the rest of practice.

She’s a mess the entire time. Aggressive enough that she takes out Miller so hard the coach has to call her out on it, hardly communicating with Ashlyn or the rest of her teammates, and generally making a loose cannon of herself. A month ago Ashlyn would have considered it a coincidence, but now that she’s remembered the things she said and Ali’s reaction to them she’s not so sure.

When a miscommunication- or, really, a lack of communication- sends Ali and Whitney sprawling just in front of the box, Ashlyn knows she’s going to have to make a move.

...

“Do you have something to say to me?”

Ashlyn corners her after practice just as she’s heading to her car. Most of them shower there in the locker rooms; it speaks to how closely Ashlyn’s been paying attention that she knows Ali waits until she’s back at her apartment. They haven’t spoken one on one like this since their pact to be civil, and Ali hasn’t had time to prepare herself for it this round, so it takes her a moment to compose herself. Ashlyn’s question feels like an ambush but sounds like a friendly question and the dichotomy makes Ali panic. For a second she forgets what she was upset about in the first place, but then it comes rushing back in full color: Whitney tucked up under Ashlyn’s arm, their heads too close, their voices too low.

“I know your…love life is none of my business ,” she spits, before she really thinks about how ridiculous she sounds, “but Whitney’s better than a rebound.”

That’s a good way to get around it, she thinks. It didn’t occur to her until she said it that she can pretend this whole thing is just her worrying on Whitney’s behalf instead of admitting it’s a jealousy thing. Worrying about someone else’s well-being is a very Ali thing to do- being jealous to the point of lashing out is not. And she’d like to think she’s still herself, mostly, even alone with Ashlyn, who has the gall to look realistically puzzled.

“Rebound?”

Ali says nothing. Ashlyn shifts, uncrossing her arms and letting them hang at her sides, like she’s vulnerable now. Like an adult.

“Is that what’s going on? You think- you think me and Whit are dating?”

“I don’t care if you’re going to move on, or do whatever it is you’re going to do. I just don’t want to see her get hurt.”

Ashlyn’s use of the word ‘dating’ is what really hits it home. Ali can vividly remember Ashlyn’s insistence on a casual relationship whenever she’d had one in the past few years, like dating was too serious for her, and for months now Ali has consoled herself with that fact alone. The idea that it wasn’t her personality or some hidden flaw that kept Ashlyn from wanting her fully- that it was Ashlyn’s inability to commit to one person- had been the only thing to carry her through the months since Christmas. But if Ashlyn is dating Whitney, that’s no longer something Ali can fall back on. It means that Ashlyn can commit. 

Ashlyn just couldn’t commit to _her_.

“You think I’d hurt her?”

There’s still no heat in Ashlyn’s voice, no urgency to her question, just honest curiosity. It makes Ali panic even more, mostly because this isn’t the Ashlyn she knows, and she’s not the _Ali_ she knows, and everything seems to be falling apart around her but she still can’t keep her mouth shut.

“I don’t know.”

“Is that who you think I am?”

“I don’t-“ Ali falters, pressing herself back against her car, avoiding Ashlyn’s gaze, “I don’t know who you are anymore.”

.,.

That’s what she’s been waiting for.

Ali looks so confused, so completely and utterly lost, that Ashlyn wants to pull her close and remind her who they are when they’re together, but she knows better now so she keeps her hands to herself. As hard as it is to hear that Ali doesn’t seem to see how much progress she’s made, Ashlyn handles it alright, tucking away the hurt for later when she can wallow alone and save face.

“I’d never hurt Whitney,” she says, as patiently as she can. Ali looks up at her with an edge of anger in her eyes again: “No. Just me.”

Ashlyn recoils, both physically and emotionally distancing herself for as long as it takes to stop reeling from that blow. Ali must see the change, because she immediately reaches out and grabs Ashlyn’s wrist, suddenly apologetic like what she’s just said wasn’t true at all.

“I’m sorry. I-“

“No. No, you’re right to be angry. I get it.”

Ali lets go of her wrist and Ashlyn can breathe again.

“I know I fucked up with you. And I’m sorry for it, but…I’d never hurt you on purpose. Not then and especially not now. You or anyone else.”

“I’m just, you make me crazy. I turn crazy around you. This isn’t like me at all, you know?”

Ashlyn breathes, takes in the scene of Ali leaning against the car and caved in on herself like someone’s pulled a pin. The someone is her, she knows, and against her better judgement she reaches out to pull Ali in for a hug. It’s less of a hug than it is just her holding Ali, who leans her weight in but doesn’t lift her arms, like she’s too deadened to do even that much, or afraid to, maybe.

“I wish I knew what to say.”

Ali stiffens in her arms, briefly hugs her back, then pulls away.

“Don’t.”

Ashlyn lets her go. It’s not the first time.

.,.

Lori calls her that afternoon and wakes her up from the nap she was hoping would make her encounter with Ashlyn stop stinging.

She answers half-asleep instead of letting it ring out and calling back, like she’d normally do. It’s only been thirty minutes since she fell asleep but she knows she shouldn’t sleep much longer or she won’t sleep later, and she should go set up her P.O. box and visit her mother and keep herself busy anyway. That’s what her life is like, now. Preseason. Training. Filling the time.

“You busy tonight?”

“Not that I know of, why?”

“I have a blind date for you.”

Ali pauses. It’s been less than a week since she broke up with Stephen, and if she’s being honest she doesn’t feel much up for trying that disaster again, but if it gives her something to do tonight she can’t imagine there’s a good reason to say no to a first date. Even if it’s a disaster it’ll be something new.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’ll be, like, a double date. Only I know who I’m going with.”

“Is it that cute waitress?”

Lori laughs and the sound makes Ali smile. She’s awake enough now to roll out of bed and head into the main area of her loft apartment, where she knows she’ll get better service.

“Her name’s Fiona, but yeah. Why?”

“No reason. Do I get to know anything about my date? Like, gender, maybe?”

“Does it matter?”

Ali hums, tapping a few buttons on her Keurig and pulling a mug out of her pantry for the tea that she’s about to make. She needs the kick.

“Of course it matters. I’d dress differently to attract a woman than I’d dress to attract a man.”

Lori makes a fake-barfing noise into her end of the phone and Ali laughs for the first time in what feels like ages. Even with Ashlyn at the back of her mind, she’s able to. Something about that confrontation- even though it stings- is letting her breathe a little better. She made a fool of herself, but she apologized. And _Ashlyn_ apologized, and meant it, it sounds like. 

“Okay, woman.”

“You’re not messing with me?”

“No, I promise.”

“Fine, how tall is she? What color is her hair? And her eyes?”

“Oh my God, you’re dating her, not me. Uh, she’s pretty tall. Taller than you anyway. And she’s... her hair is brown, I guess. And I think her eyes are, too.”

Ali mulls this over for a moment. She’s only kissed three women in her life, including Ashlyn, and all of them have been fairly similar- tall, yes, but blonde. Still, maybe what she needs in a date is someone who won’t remind her of Ashlyn. Or Stephen.

“Is she cute?”

Lori pauses and Ali wonders what she’s thinking, what she’s hiding.

“Not my type, but you’ll like her.”

......

Ashlyn alternates between her own closet and Whitney’s, and from the middle of the floor Whitney watches her with Allie camped out on her lap.

“She already _knows_ what you look like,” Whitney observes helpfully, and as soon as she speaks Allie meows. It’s her habit. She likes to be included in the conversation.

Ashlyn frowns, holding up a button-down against her. It’s Whitney’s, but she kind of likes it. It’s girlier than what she’d normally wear but not by enough that it’ll look like she’s trying too hard.

“That’s not the point.”

“If you wear that you better put a hell of a lot of deodorant on, because I do _not_ want your nasty pit stains, Harris.”

“I don’t sweat through my shirts, gross.”

“You do when Ali’s around.”

“Fuck off,” Ashlyn says, and she’d throw something if she had something to throw. The button down is gray with pinkish stripes and it looks sleek on her when she puts it on over her tank top, but she turns to Whitney for approval anyway.

“You look really straight in that.”

“So, no?”

“Well, I dunno. What are you going for here?”

“Uh, something new that she hasn’t seen yet, I guess.”

“Hard to get?”

“No, just new. Like, ‘whoa, new Ashlyn’ new.”

“Put on one of your own shirts inside out and shave off your hair.”

Ashlyn lobs the hanger at Whitney and Allie squeaks, rushing off into a far corner to glower at them.

“I’m serious!”

Whitney laughs at her and stands up to hang the hanger back where it belongs, shaking her head. Ashlyn’s starting to panic a little, even though she knows she shouldn’t; if everything goes well Ali will show up expecting a stranger and she’ll be able to play that to her advantage. 

“And I’m seriously thinking that you’re overthinking this. Ash, look.”

Whitney grabs her by the shoulders to face her toward the full-length mirror, peeking over her shoulder. Ashlyn looks, but she’s not sure what she sees. She’s more curious as to what _Whitney_ sees, anyway.

“You’re way different than you were two months ago. Ali’s not an idiot, she knows that, and she’s not going to be looking at whatever you’re wearing, okay? It doesn’t matter if you show up in a trash bag, just show her _you_.”

For all her joking, Whitney still knows exactly what to say and when to say it, and Ashlyn takes in what she looks like- skinny jeans, button down, hair over one shoulder, studs in- and tries to see beyond it. She’s proud of who she is now. She feels like she’s steadier on her feet, a little older, a little wiser.

Still.

“So, naked?”

.....

Ali settles on something flowy on the top coupled with jean leggings, forcing herself into low heels so that her legs look especially good. She’s nervous, swiping at her lip gloss as she walks, trying to keep from ruining it too early like she usually does because her nervous habit is _biting_ her lips.

She tries to imagine this person in her head, but all she comes up with is Ashlyn, Ashlyn in the stupid Christmas antlers, Ashlyn pulling her close during the slow dance, Ashlyn pinning her to the bed just with the weight of her gaze and Ali’s getting ahead of herself and has to stop a moment and clear her mind.

Lori meets her at the door, looking sharp but casual in a hot pink blazer and black skinny jeans.

“We look _good_ ,” Lori says, drawing out the o’s and giving Ali a comical once over. They hug, and Ali starts to feel a little steadier on her feet just in time to be herded through the door. She instantly recognizes Fiona, who’s waiting in the foyer of the restaurant, but for a moment Ali has to freeze and think about what she’s seeing. _Who_ she’s seeing.

Her stomach drops to her toes.

“Ashlyn?”

The blonde in front of her turns, smiles, offers a hand.

“You must be Ali.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The loose ends finally tie up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks- we're at the end. Thank you so much for coming along for the ride. I appreciate all the feedback I get and I had a great time writing this!

Once Ali appears all Ashlyn’s nervousness is gone in a rush. It’s game time now, in a way, and just like she does on the field, she lets her instincts take over. 

Ali looks perfect; sexy but casual. At Ashlyn’s introduction she furrows her brow and crosses her arms, picturesquely aggravated. 

“I know who you are. Where’s my date?”

Lori rests her hand on the small of her own date’s back, herding them back towards the exit in an attempt to be subtle, but Ali catches them and Ashlyn, significantly at a loss and trying not to let her smile fall, doesn’t say a word. To her relief Ali’s wrath doesn’t get turned her way- not yet.

“Lori?”

“Play nice,” and their captain is gone, steadfastly neutral, with her vaguely uncomfortable date.

Ali glowers, but Ashlyn maintains her smile through it all, taking back the hand that Ali refused to shake. If this is going to work she has to play it right, and she’s _determined_ to make it work, so she plays it as smooth as she possibly can.

“Are _you_ my date? Is that what this is?”

“Lori tends to over exaggerate. I’m not the model you were expecting, huh?”

“Ashlyn-”

“Just let me buy you a drink. Give me an hour and if you don’t like what you see, you leave.”

Ali hesitates a little, and Ashlyn reaches out against her better instinct to grab Ali’s hand and hold it in both of her own.

“You said you didn’t know who I was anymore, and I think you’re right. So just give me tonight to show you.”

................

As wary as she is, Ali doesn’t argue. Ashlyn’s trying, and even if it’s obvious that she is, it’s a gesture that’s more than Ali would ever expect. Ashlyn’s not the type to be earnest like that, to put herself in a vulnerable position like she has something to prove- if someone doesn’t want her, it’s their loss- and that in and of itself is enough of an indication of change for Ali to stay.

Her staying also maybe has something to do with the dimple in Ashlyn’s smile.

Ashlyn slips right back into the act, which doesn’t surprise Ali but also doesn’t help her apprehension. In a way this _is_ a lot like a blind date- Ali has no idea what to expect- but what’s different is that there are memories of Ashlyn that she’s forced to ignore if she’s to play along. She’s not a natural actress like Ashlyn is, so it’s difficult for her in an entirely different way.

She does play along, though. Ashlyn makes small talk, offers to pay for her drink, and turns on the charm but in a way that doesn’t seem facetious at all. Ali stays confused but pushes to be amicable, focusing on Ashlyn and not on herself. That, at least, isn’t difficult to do.

Ashlyn looks as different as she sounds. She looks happier, and fresh, in a button-down that Ali doesn’t remember with the sleeves rolled up enough that her tattoo is visible. She talks about herself but only sparingly, offering only information on where she lives and what she does as a job, until Ali starts asking questions in an attempt to not be the only person talking for most of the night.

It feels cheap the first time she asks one, because she knows the answer, but she tries it anyway and almost winces at the taste of the words in her mouth.

“Do you have a roommate?”

“I do, yeah. We play together too, so I guess it’s a good thing she’s my best friend.”

That hurts a little, mostly because Ali knows that title used to belong to her. She only realized how useless it is to feel jealous when she remembers why she’s there- they’re on a _date_ \- and that her goal isn’t friendship. 

“Do you?”

Ali shakes her head.

“My loft apartment’s pretty small. I’m thinking about getting a dog, though. I miss having my own.”

Ashlyn nods, smiling down at the napkin she’s been messing with while they’ve been waiting for their food.

“We have a kitten. I think it definitely makes a difference, having a pet. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I had one again, cause I haven’t had one since college and even then it was really my parents’ dog.”

The kitten is news to Ali, and somehow it tickles her to imagine Ashlyn with a cat. She seems like a dog person, probably partially because of her well-recognized affection for Abby and Sarah’s ‘kids’, and cats require gentleness and quiet that Ali wouldn’t peg Ashlyn as really all that capable of. Not the Ashlyn she remembers, anyway. Then again, though, it’s possible that she’s being unfair. Whatever side of Ashlyn that’s been uncovered isn’t an invention. Whatever is in Ashlyn that allows her to be quiet and gentle has always been there, and at some point, Ali decides, she must have seen that. How else would she have fallen for her best friend?

It’s not hard to do that all over again, to fall for Ashlyn head over heels. Even with the memory of hurt, of _months_ of hurt, it’s not hard. Because part of that was her fault and if Ashlyn can take responsibility for it then she can, too. 

When the food comes there’s a lull in the conversation, and in that lull the conversation shifts and any confidence Ali had in her ability to navigate it is completely shot. 

“So, Lori tells me you’re just out of a relationship. How’d that happen?”

Ali clears her throat.

“If it’s too intrusive you don’t have to answer-”

“No, it’s fine. It was-” she entertains the idea of lying about it, but Ashlyn’s been so honest with her that she knows she won’t and ends up trailing off, trying to figure out how to word it. Ashlyn waits, just like she’s waited before, patiently and quietly and with the hesitation of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

“I was casually seeing a friend from high school but I broke it off because he liked me more than I liked him and I sort of decided- well, discovered, really- that I was taking advantage of the situation to get over someone else. And I knew that was bad and that he deserved better.”

That hangs between them for a while. The ‘someone else’ is heaviest, and Ali knows Ashlyn well enough to know that she knows exactly what was just said. She picks at her salad a little, mostly disinterested in it, and doesn’t look up again until Ashlyn speaks and makes her.

“Did it work?”

“Well, yes. He took it very nicely.”

She knows that’s not the question, though, she’s just waiting to see if Ashlyn will push it. She does, and _that’s_ the Ashlyn that Ali remembers. Curious to the point of offending people and very rarely sorry about it.

“I meant, did you get over the other person?”

Ashlyn’s leaning over the table a little, waiting for the answer but still trying to be polite and casual about it. Ali’s not sure what to answer. An hour ago she’d have said yes, but now she’s not sure about anything other than the fact that there’s a part of her that’s loved Ashlyn for years and that part never went away.

“No.”

Ashlyn seems like she’s trying hard not to let herself smile, but it doesn’t work; she hides her grin in her drink. Ali laughs a little, giddy from letting out her secret and from Ashlyn’s reaction above all.

“No,” she repeats, still smiling, “as it turns out, it’s not that easy.”

........

“Thank God,” she says, before she can stop herself.

She plays it off as a joke but she meant it and she knows that Ali knows it. If Ali’s not over her then tonight is at least a partial victory. She lets the conversation die out again, and when Ali brings up their home opener she makes small talk about it, waiting for the check.

Ali lets her pay but insists on being the one to leave a tip, and Ashlyn doesn’t argue because she knows that Ali wouldn’t let an argument stop her. Only once they’re up and walking again does Ashlyn realize how nervous she is and how unsure she is of her place now that dinner is over. Does she think up something else for them to do? Does she say goodbye to Ali then and there? Does she offer to call Ali a cab?

“I’m only a couple of blocks away,” Ali says, her savior as always. 

“Can I walk you home?”

Ali smiles at that, the kind of smile Ashlyn’s missed for so long, genuine and glowing and there’s something else in it she’s not sure she’s ever seen before.

“I’d like that.”

DC at night is busier than Duisburg but not as busy as Frankfurt. It’s warm and just a little bit humid, and Ashlyn follows Ali through the streets equally as interested in the city as she is in the girl guiding her through it. They live in opposite directions from the restaurant, and this is a part of the city she hasn’t ventured into. More expensive than her side, more chic. Less families. More toy dogs, less mutt breeds. Swept stoops and maintained flowerboxes.

“This was the furthest I was willing to live from the Plex,” Ali offers. “I didn’t want my job to totally dictate the kind of place I was living in, but I also knew I couldn’t go too central or I’d hate driving to practice every day.”

“I live in a loft-style, too. We’re closer to a park, though.”

“I should check that out, actually. If I’m gonna get a dog, I mean.”

“Yeah, Whitney chose the location because she knows I need frequent walks.”

Ali laughs for the first time that night and Ashlyn gets a rush of butterflies that won’t allow her to keep her mouth shut; she drags the joke through the dirt and woofs for emphasis until Ali reaches over and covers her mouth with one hand.

They stop walking so that Ashlyn can take Ali’s hand from her mouth. She holds it for a moment, and there’s a magnetism between them that Ashlyn remembers from when she apologized in Frankfurt. Back then she had tried to run from it. Now she plays with it, leaning in a little so that there’s barely an inch of space separating their fronts. Ali grins at her, playful, looking up through her eyelashes and tipping her chin up like she’s going in for a kiss, and Ashlyn squeezes her hand in anticipation but it never comes.

Ali laughs and takes her hand back and flounces ahead on the sidewalk again, leaving Ashlyn open-mouthed and chuckling in astonishment as she starts, again, on her path to keep up.

.................

Ali lets herself into her apartment and is surprised when Ashlyn doesn’t immediately follow her in. They’ve slipped so easily into their old banter and give and take that she just sort of expected Ashlyn to come inside and flop onto her couch like old times. She does a double take when she notices Ashlyn hovering in the doorway.

“This is a nice place,” she says, as if this is still a blind date, albeit one that’s going well, “how long have you lived in DC?”

Ali, though, is done playing. She had been two heartbeats away from kissing Ashlyn out on the street and she needs them to drop the act so that she can take this seriously.

“Ashlyn.”

When she gets eye contact she doesn’t bother to wait for anything else. She grabs her keeper by the beltloops of her jeans and pulls them both far enough into the apartment that the door falls shut behind them. For the first time in ages she sees Ashlyn as she is- sweet and brave- and she goes the entire way this time to slant her lips across Ashlyn’s for a soft and confident kiss.

It doesn't last long. It doesn't have to. It's an experiment, and when she pulls back to see Ashlyn's smiling it's all she wanted to know and more. 

The last time they kissed had been rushed and weighted with things that tore them apart. This is the exact opposite- this is a coming-together, a reconciliation. 

And Ali realizes she's forgotten how _good_ Ashlyn is at it.

They kiss again, this time Ashlyn leaning in first with her hands resting at Ali's elbows and Ali curling her fingers into the belt loops of her jeans again to pull them until they're pressed together hip to hip. By the time Ashlyn moves her hands Ali is impatient for it; the hand that finds her cheek makes her goosebump before the other hand even slides up her arm. 

She knows what she wants, and if the slide of Ashlyn's tongue against her lip is any indication, she's not alone. When the kiss deepens she slips one hand under the button-down, searching for skin and finding Ashlyn warm under her touch. Ashlyn’s other hand comes up so that both are framing Ali’s face, and that frees Ali up to move her hands again, which she does, slipping her hands into Ashlyn’s back pockets just for the reaction she gets- a laugh against her mouth- before she returns them to the front of Ashlyn’s shirt so she can work at the buttons.

She gets halfway down the shirt before Ashlyn stops her, grabbing both her wrists.

“I’m not the kind of girl who does this on a first date,” she says, but she’s still just trying to be impressive- Ali can tell because if she knows Ashlyn she knows she’d have said ‘no’ if that was what she meant. All she means is that she doesn’t want this to seem like just sex, and Ali finds that mindset- coming from _Ashlyn_ , in this situation especially- does nothing but turn her on.

Not that Ashlyn minds, probably.

“You don’t have to _do_ anything,” she says, and Ashlyn lets go of her hands just long enough to allow Ali to drop to her knees.

.....

For a moment the shock is so violent that Ashlyn can do nothing but stand there as Ali unbuttons and unzips her jeans. When she gets back her ability to move she rips at her remaining shirt buttons in a frenzy and shrugs out of Whitney's button down, too focused on Ali to do anything but drop the shirt to the floor. 

Ali pauses, looking up, and Ashlyn reaches down. She wants to say something- wants to apologize that it's taken them so long to get here, or to tell Ali they don't need to be intimate yet- but there's such heat in Ali's gaze that she decides not to bother, just backs up a few steps until she's against the wall and runs a hand through Ali's hair, moving it to one side. 

It's as if that's the permission Ali's looking for. She leans in and kisses Ashlyn's stomach, tugging at her jeans until they slide over her hips. When Ashlyn steps out of them she feels Ali smile against her skin, feels hands travel from her ankles up to her thighs. Something about being passive, about Ali being in control of this, makes it all the less real. With her eyes closed against the anticipation brought by Ali's palm against her underwear, Ashlyn swears she could be dreaming. 

"I was stupid to leave you," Ali says, sliding her hand forward against the material. Even through the haze of arousal Ashlyn has to correct her, hands flat against the wall. 

"I wasn't worth staying for."

Ali kisses her stomach again, then her hip. 

"That doesn't mean I was right to leave," she argues, and she doesn't move again until Ashlyn feels as though she ought to speak. 

"No."

Ali tugs down at one side of Ashlyn's underwear and she comes up off the wall enough to accommodate. When they're gone she returns her hand to Ali's hair, drawing strands between her fingers. 

.................

Ashlyn is sensitive. Somehow this surprises Ali, who barely makes contact before she hears a soft and muffled sigh. She rests both hands on Ashlyn’s thighs, simultaneously glad for her position and wishing she could reach the rest of Ashlyn’s body. It’s enough to look up every once in a while, to pull away just a bit and see Ashlyn’s head tilted back, lips parted, chest heaving. 

Ali takes her time; Ashlyn doesn’t.

She’s not as loud as Ali expected her to be, and that makes things different because Ali has to gauge how close she is just by the tense and shift of her muscles. The most direction she gets is from the hand in her hair, that starts off stroking and progressively stills until Ashlyn’s all but tugging, and her breath is starting to shallow out and turn irregular, and Ali could swear they’ve only been at it for a minute or two. 

She never would have pegged Ashlyn as a hairtrigger, especially not considering what her life had been like back in Germany, but truthfully all it takes is a broad swipe of her tongue before Ashlyn’s fingers tighten in her hair and the sound of her name makes her pull back.

“Stop,” Ashlyn pants. Ali grins a little, tempted to point out that she already has. The hand in her hair reaches for her own hand, and she takes it, getting to her feet. Ashlyn pulls her in with an arm around her waist and kisses her.

“Stop?”

“No,” she rephrases, and Ali grins again, wishing she was less clothed but more inclined to keep her hands on Ashlyn than to mess with her own shirt and leggings.

“Just- I was, I’m...” she’s frustrated and Ali can tell from the heaviness of her sigh, even as Ashlyn’s hands slip under her top and play at the skin of her lower back. She finishes her sentence as quietly as she can, so quietly that Ali has to lean up to hear it: “it’s been a while.”

.............

Ashlyn’s not sure how she’s still standing, even _before_ Ali pulls her shirt up over her head. She slides her hands up, one to the clasp of Ali’s bra and the other stopping just below it. She barely gets the clasp undone before Ali’s wriggling out of her leggings, and before she knows it the bra is gone, the leggings are gone, and Ali is pressed against her.

“How long?”

Ali asks it between kisses, and for a while, Ashlyn doesn’t answer. She doesn’t feel as if she needs to until Ali’s hand slips between her legs, and then she struggles to get the words out, digging her fingers into Ali’s shoulders.

“Since you left.”

She grits it out without thinking about it. Ali twists her hand and in response she juts her hips forwards, eyes closed. With them both standing, the weakness in her knees is compensated for by Ali’s weight pinning her to the wall, so she lets herself feel it and knocks her head back against the wall in the process.

“There wasn’t anybody else?”

It’s cruel of Ali to keep asking questions while she finds a rhythm but she doesn’t seem to care. For a few moments Ashlyn struggles to coordinate her thoughts, most of her energy expended by matching Ali’s pace, by finding a way to tilt her head so that Ali has complete access to her throat. 

When Ali scrapes her teeth over her skin Ashlyn groans out a ‘no’. It’s been /months/, and that’s been especially torturous since she’s moved in with Whitney and her relative ability to ‘take care of herself’ all but completely disappeared. Add to that the number of times she’s woken up with the taste of Ali’s kiss on her lips, with the memory of her skin in contrast with the sheets, and it’s really no surprise that she barely makes it half a minute more before the pressure of Ali’s hand and the tease of her lips is too much.

She buries her face in Ali’s neck when she comes, muffling something that’s a cross between a whimper and a moan. Her breath is slow to come back to her and she shudders the whole way back to normal; by the time she can really consider her position she’s half-slumped against the wall and Ali is all but holding her up.

This is not a position she ever imagined herself in.

She never imagined she’d need supporting. She never imagined she could be this open and vulnerable or this _wrong_ about herself, and of course that’s what comes to her as the blood starts to trickle back to her head. That Ali makes her be everything she never thought she could be- that Ali is here despite everything they’ve put each other through- tells her all she needs to know.

.........

There’s a lull, then, where Ali finds her shirt and Ashlyn struggles back into her own, haphazardly buttoning it and apparently not caring that it’s off by two. When Ashlyn reaches for her jeans, Ali stops her, overwhelmed with the idea of being alone again. In order to know that she hasn’t just made a horrible mistake she has to know that Ashlyn will be there the morning after.

She has to know that Ashlyn cares as much as she does.

“Stay,” she asks,and the surprise that spreads over Ashlyn’s face is the world to her.

She takes Ashlyn’s hand and tugs her to bed, where, as always, they go to their respective sides- Ali to the right, Ashlyn to the left- but this time, beneath the covers, they find each other again. When they touch again it’s hesitant, just the pads of Ashlyn’s fingers brushing the outside of Ali’s arm and Ali scooting forward until their knees press together.

Ashlyn looks a near-comical combination of puzzled and focused, like the skin under her fingertips or what it means is foreign to her.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” she says on a sigh. Ali considers her for a moment before leaning in to kiss her, and that’s enough to make the words come back even as she’s choked with tenderness she’s held back for too long.

“It wasn’t just you. We both had a lot of growing up to do.”

It sounds cliche but she knows it’s true as soon as she says it. Ashlyn nods, lifting her hand, and Ali’s cheek burns where she’s touched.

“I love you.”

It’s out before she can stop herself. It’s not the first time she’s ever said it, but it means something different now, and as much as she wants to see Ashlyn’s face she doesn’t get to, because Ashlyn pulls her in and holds her.

With her face pressed into Ashlyn’s neck and Ashlyn’s lips at her forehead, Ali starts to panic.

“You don’t have to say it back.”

Ashlyn laughs, tightening her arms around Ali’s waist.

“You’re my soulmate, Al. Of course I love you.”

...............

It doesn’t occur to Ashlyn that when Ali wakes up and she’s not in the bed she’ll assume she’s alone.

It doesn’t occur to her until Ali stumbles into the kitchen area half-asleep, disgruntled, still in just her shirt and underwear from the night before. Her makeup is smudged a little just around the eyes and there’s something domestic and endearing about it to Ashlyn, who has given up being surprised by herself.

“I thought you were gone,” Ali says, pitifully.

She blushes when Ashlyn laughs.

“What are you doing, anyway?”

“Making breakfast.”

She says it self-importantly, waving at the toaster, where two frozen waffles are on their way to edible, and this time it’s Ali’s turn to laugh as she takes a seat on the opposite side of the counter. Ashlyn leans over it on her toes and pecks a kiss to Ali’s nose.

“I’ve gotta leave after, though. I don’t have any clothes with me for practice. And I should really pick up some flowers or something for Whitney.”

Ali blinks at her and she elaborates hastily when she remembers the confrontation they had outside the Plex almost a week ago.

“I didn’t text her last night to tell her I wasn’t coming home and I feel like a jerk.”

She sees Ali check the microwave for the time and knows she’s surprised that it’s so early; they don’t have practice until four and it’s only eight-thirty. Apparently the alarms Whitney has been setting at intervals for ‘circadian rhythm training’ have been working and not just torturing.

“You don’t have to go _yet_ , do you?”

Ashlyn pops the waffles out of the toaster and onto a paper plate, sliding them toward Ali over the counter and leaning onto it with her elbows, raising an eyebrow.

“You know what? Maybe I can stay a little longer. Especially since I owe you for last night.”

Ali chokes on her waffle.

........

It’s worth it.


End file.
